Attrition
by HeartsandEyesDelight
Summary: The act of wearing away or the state of being worn away, as by friction; constant wearing down to weaken or destroy; sorrow for sin arising from fear of damnation, esp. as contrasted with contrition, which arises purely from love of God. OOC, AU, GSR
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own them.

A/N: Sooo, I was hesitant to post another WIP just now, as school in starting in two weeks and I'm taking 18 credits, and life in general is kind of all-consuming... but writing kind makes all of that manageable for me, and the reviews always boost my ego. So, this is the result. Usually I at least have the first 2-3 chapters written when I post a story, and I don't for this one. Therefore: fair warning to all who are used to my update schedule which is usually every day to every other day, though it has been dwindling lately, this one will likely not be updated as frequently, but I'll try to keep on it.

Also, this is going to be fairly dark. I'm not sure how far I'll push it, but... I got the idea from Culmination, for those who have read it, where I had Sara saying that she was just lucky... that with her life experiences, things could have been so much different for her... *she* could have been so much different. This is a Sara who is very... disillusioned. In my head, I see this being a kind of companion piece to Leave of Absence-it's AU, OOC, Sara at Harvard, again-but this time she is the pursuer and the manipulator. So, if LoA was too dark for you (I know it's not really all that dark, but I've been accused of not giving enough warning...), don't read this.

Otherwise, enjoy! Your reviews mean so much to me, and I can't begin to thank my usual readers (you know who you are) for sticking with me.

* * *

When you tell a story, it's important to tell the truth, even if you don't particularly care for what the truth reveals.

…My intention with this story is to be as brutally honest as possible, even when it doesn't show me in the most positive light. That being said, I want to offer something in my own defense before I confess my sins: I did not enter into the… _situation_… intending to trap him. It was never my goal to hurt the man—if anything, I fully expected him to hurt me.

It was the fall of 1990—I was eighteen going on nineteen and every bit the product and sum total of my life experiences… which was not exactly a good thing.

* * *

I set my backpack on the chair, just inside the living room, listening for any sounds to indicate where my roommate, Anni, was. The low thumping coming through the ceiling told me very little—she left her music on no matter where in the apartment she was.

To my left was our living room—empty—and to my right the hall closet. The wall slanted a few feet further right, past the closet, to accommodate a staircase. Straight in front of me was a short hallway into the kitchen. I moved down it, through an archway Anni had decorated with a large wrought-iron arch shaped… thing, and into the kitchen. To my immediate right, filling up the space under the stairs, was a small bathroom complete with a washer and dryer tucked against the slanting wall. The kitchen was on my left, the island breakfast bar serving as the only dining area in the apartment. This room was also empty.

I snagged a bottle of beer from the fridge, twisted it open, and headed back out and up the stairs. At the top I glanced down the hallway, between our two bedrooms, and moved through the open doorway of the one closest to me. Once inside, I could see the door into the bathroom between our rooms—she was in a tank top and shorts, meticulously curling slightly shorter than shoulder-length black hair.

Anni and I were very different people… we often said that we were each so far to the extremes that we'd somehow come together around the other side. She was born Anniliese Astor (of the Boston Astors, apparently), daughter of a man who had both old and new money and a woman who was a second or third cousin to the Kennedys. Yep, that's right. _The_ Kennedys. Growing up, she'd had long, straight, bleach-blonde hair to match her bright blue eyes and when she'd asked her daddy for a pony, she'd gotten one. …She was smart enough to be at Harvard, but we both knew that she didn't need to be—her name alone would have gotten her admitted, at least for the first year.

It was a sharp contrast from me, Sara Sidle (of the Tomales Bay Sidles, naturally). And far from being related to the American Royal Family, I was fairly certain my father was a descendant of John Wilkes Booth. Growing up, I'd have been happy to have any money, new or old, as long as it meant never having to choose between my father's alcohol and my mother's desire to put food on the table. (Whenever they had _that_ fight, my mother ended up in the hospital.) I had never had the fanciful notion of ponies as presents, although I'd once been backhanded for having the nerve to ask for the Prince Ken doll and horse to go with the Princess Barbie Grandma Sidle had given me the previous Christmas, before she died. I'd had short, curly brown hair my whole life, dull brown eyes, and absolutely no figure… but I was smart. Not just smart enough to go to Harvard—smart enough to get a full ride at sixteen.

But somehow, we were also a lot alike. I can psychoanalyze it for you, if you'd like. …You see enough child psychologists, and you pick it up pretty fast… it's not really something you need a doctorate to do. Anni is rebelling against her Stepford family, and I'm lashing out at the world, but mostly at myself, because I'm angry and self-destructive. ...Regardless, we found a common ground by virtue of our angry self-loathing, disrespect for the powers that be, and an over the top superiority complex. We were quite a pair, I'm sure.

She glanced at me out of the side of her eyes and grinned. "How were your first few classes?" I moved into the room, plopping down on her bed on my stomach, my legs up behind me.

"Dunno, yet. Syllabi look like they'll be awful, but some teachers just make the syllabus look tough to weed out the lazy asses." I took a swig and she giggled.

"It's a little early, don't you think?"

I glanced at the clock. "It's after noon. Besides, it's a little late to just be doing your hair for the day, don't you think?"

She rolled her eyes, turning off the curling iron and picking up a bottle of hairspray. "Maybe for someone who starts all their classes at seven a.m. Mine start at one thirty." She sprayed, and I took another drink. One thing about us that was very unalike—Anni needed her beauty sleep, and I was an insomniac. If I didn't have early classes, it meant that I had nothing to do between four thirty and eight or nine in the morning. Which is the worst possible time to be unable to sleep, because it's when everyone else _is_ sleeping.

"What do you have today?"

She shrugged. "Intro to Bio, Bio Lab, Creative Writing…"

I snorted. "Creative Writing?"

She tossed me a grin before turning her attention back to the application of lip gloss.

"Well, at registration there was this really cute guy ahead of me…"

I laughed and so did she. "So when are you done, then? Assuming you don't end up going out with him tonight?"

She rolled her eyes, her voice chiding. "Sara Sidle. What kind of girl do you think I am…? You never let a guy think he's important enough for you to drop your plans, even if you don't have plans. …If he asks me out, he'll have to wait for me to find a free night… in a few weeks." I laughed again and she packed up her makeup, storing it in her bathroom drawer and turning to look at me. "What about you? Work tonight?"

"Mhmm. Sounds like everyone's gonna meet there for drinks though. You coming?"

"And miss seeing you busting your ass serving drinks to friends who never tip you?" She teased, stepping out and glancing at the diamond studded watch on her slim wrist before picking up her backpack. "I gotta go if I'm not gonna be late. Teachers hate that on the first day…"

"See ya!" I called as she slipped out of the room, rising myself and moving further down the hallway, into my own bedroom. I had given myself a few hours between school and work for homework—self-destructive though I might be, I was still a nerd at heart. I might go to class hung-over—or still buzzed, even—but never without my assignment finished. But it was the first day of classes and so I had nothing to do for the next few hours. I laid on my bed, contemplating the year ahead of me as well as those behind me, wondering about my teachers… so far this morning I'd only had one male teacher, but I was pretty sure I had two classes the next day with male teachers.

I had never intentionally sought out a relationship with my teachers, per se, but it had always, always happened. At this point, I still wasn't seeking it… but I expected it to happen, sooner or later. I swear that it always started out innocently—I meant it when I said I'm a nerd at heart. I could throw down with the best of them and drink just about anyone under the table, but when I was in class, I absorbed the information. I did supplemental reading, extra credit, I stayed late to ask questions and though I'd never done a paper that was less than A level work, I almost always asked my teachers to read it through before the due date so I could make improvements. I did this with female teachers as well, and it seemed like all professors were excited to have a student who was more interested in their subject than in the frat party that night. …I invariably became a kind of pet, and it invariably led to something more, though I had never pushed for such a thing and though every single teacher had sworn he'd never done anything like it before.

Yeah, right. Just like they all said you were the best they'd ever had, and if they were brave enough to leave their wives and children for you, they would.

You learn to ignore those kind of empty promises pretty quickly—if you know what you're getting into from the beginning, you're far less likely to be hurt in the end. And invariably, it will end… You know that just like you know it will begin, with someone. And I was the perfect choice, for them… I never put them in a position where they felt like they might need to assist my grade to keep me putting out—I was a model student and I was generally always willing—and I wasn't offended when the inevitable end-of-semester talk/break up came around. My first relationship with a teacher had been rough—in great part thanks to the empty promises—but after that, I learned that it sincerely wasn't about _me_… a semester was all they wanted, from me or any other student. It wasn't personal.

I dug in the papers on my desk, finding a copy of my class schedule—two physics classes, organic chemistry, and the one class I'd taken for fun—Intro to Forensic Science. I was wrong—three male teachers. Dr. Anderson—my advisor and favorite physics teacher… and a man who had made me his 'pet' and yet never made so much as an inappropriate innuendo in my presence, much less a pass at me. Dr. Felton, a man I knew nothing about, and Dr. Grissom—a guest professor. All the science departments had been raving about simply having him on campus for a while, so he must be some kind of big deal.

I emptied the beer bottle I'd still been clutching and made my way down the stairs, thinking it couldn't hurt to have a snack and another beer before work…


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Thank you all for the lovely reviews! They made my day. I will try to update as much as possible before school starts, and for those of you who asked questions, I'll try to get back to you individually tonight or tomorrow. :)

But, I will assure everyone: This will be a happy ending. I don't do non-happy endings. :) Let me know what you think!

* * *

Chapter One:

I felt amazing the next morning. Despite working late and staying for a few drinks with my friends after my shift, I had managed to sleep more than usual—I woke up around 5:30, took a long shower, dried my hair and dressed, grabbed coffee and a muffin on the way out the door, and still arrived in my first lecture hall twenty minutes before class was scheduled to start. It was Dr. Felton's class, an advanced physics course, and I was almost as excited for it as I was for my forensics class.

Dr. Felton arrived five minutes later—he was an older man, but attractive. Gray hair, tanned skin, deep brown eyes, a muscular build… He smiled at me when he entered the room, but he didn't seem surprised, which surprised me. He set down his briefcase and the pile of syllabi he'd brought it, followed by his coffee, and then turned his gaze to me again. "Sara Sidle, I presume?"

I flushed, grinning. "My reputation precedes me?"

"Indeed it does. Dr. Anderson had nothing but good things to say about you—including that I should expect you to beat me here every day. …I thought he was exaggerating."

"Sadly not." I laughed, and he gave me a smile—like a genuine smile. I felt my heart already fluttering in my chest a little, and tried to restrain it—I didn't want it to get back to Dr. Anderson that I was one of those girls… the kind who sleeps with a teacher. Or, teachers, as the case may be. I usually tried to keep my affairs outside of the physics department, although now that I was taking almost all physics classes, that would be harder. I would have to be careful, at least. I didn't want Dr. Anderson's opinion of me tarnished just so I could suck an old man's cock. I mean, really, it wasn't worth it.

Still, he did seem like the type—he moved around the front of his desk, not even bothering to pretend he was busy with work of some kind, and leaned back against it, crossing his arms and letting me see the quick flicker of his eyes up and down my frame. He was testing the waters—he wanted me to see the look, but it wasn't slow and lascivious… He was gauging my reaction to see how receptive I might be to his advances. I kept my expression carefully neutral, but frowned internally—it was rather early in the semester to already be looking for a hook-up. He should at least wait a week to make sure I didn't drop the class or stop showing up, shouldn't he? His cavalier attitude spoke of… recklessness. It made me uncomfortable, and I looked down at my notebook. Maybe I would just go without the affair this semester… Or, hell, maybe I'd find someone my own age to screw the hell out of me until rushing endorphins and pure exhaustion allowed me a few moments of sleep each night.

Maybe I'd just invest in a vibrator. Sure, Anni would tease me about it, but it might be worth it. …Dr. Felton made me nervous. He moved too quickly—he didn't seem afraid enough of being found out. And if he got caught, I was fucked too.

I was thankful that someone else entered the room before he had a chance to say whatever it seemed he was letting the silence build up between us before saying—God, he was transparent—and he moved back around his desk, looking a little sheepish. I resolved that I would break my pattern—which I stuck to with OCD-like tenacity—and sit in the second row in this class, instead of the first. A little distance might go a long way towards communicating my disinterest.

It was a relief when I got to Dr. Anderson's class, where I could relax. I had had Organic Chem. just before this, and while the teacher was a woman, her T.A. had spent the fifteen minutes between arriving and class starting sitting beside me and talking to me… and while I would usually have enjoyed the attention, I was already on edge from Dr. Felton, whose gaze had been a bit too lingering all through that hour. So it was really a relief to sit in the front row of a class with a non-threatening, familiar face. He gave me a fatherly wink with my syllabus and calmed me with his voice alone as he discussed tests and papers and final projects.

So I was calm when I moved into the class I'd been looking forward to all day—and was surprised that although I'd had a lunch break between this class and Dr. Anderson's and was therefore able to be my usual twenty minutes early, I had not beaten Dr. Grissom there. He had boxes spread across his desk and half the desks in the first row—this class being held in a regular classroom, not a lecture hall—as well as covering more of the floor space around his desk. I hesitated in the doorway, uncertain, and he glanced up at me and smiled, his glasses sliding down his nose. "Hello…" He glanced at the clock. "Intro to Forensics? You're a little early…"

I gave an uncertain half-smile. "I like to be early… I, uh… I can wait in the hall, though, if… you… don't want to be interrupted." I wrinkled my nose—it wasn't that the man was unattractive, but he was… a little sweaty, a little disheveled… but not in the sexy way. Just in the… messy way. Maybe I ought to just resign myself to a celibate semester. There was an adult bookstore just off campus…

"No, no, come in. Find a seat. Just push my stuff out of the way."

I wound my way through the debris on the floor and moved to lift the box from the chair that was front and center, but glanced down into it and backed away in alarm. It was filled with bloody pictures from crime scenes, and it was little consolation that none of the pictures showed faces, to protect the victims' privacy, I imagined. He glanced up at me and offered a small, sympathetic smile. "Sorry about that. It can be a kind of gruesome field…"

I frowned at him, thinking he certainly should have warned me rather than allowing me to approach the box unaware, but I still lifted it gingerly and set it on the floor, sliding it forward as far as I could, so as not to see it all through class. Then, I plopped into my seat, thinking that this was not shaping up to be what I'd imagined at all—and this was supposed to be my fun class. …Maybe I'd have to see if there was room in Anni's creative writing class… Chances were it was an Intro Level. I could manage that.

"Dr. Grissom." He introduced himself, and I forced the smile I didn't feel.

"Sara Sidle."

He nodded once, and then seemed to think this was all that was required of him, conversation-wise. And, it was… but it bothered me. Usually my teachers were eager to talk to me. …Well, give it some time, I reassured myself. He certainly had a lot to get done before class started. The classroom literally looked like a tornado had gone through it. I pulled out my textbook and opened it, reading so that I didn't have to sit and awkwardly watch him while I waited for class to start. This might have to be another change in my meticulous pattern—I doubted I would be coming quite so early to this class if he were always here and always so… strange.

Despite believing rather fervently that there was no way he would sort all of his things before class started, somehow, miraculously, he did. The boxes were tucked against the wall, under the chalk board that he didn't seem to have any intention of using, and all of his display items were lined neatly on the desk, although still giving him enough room to slide his butt onto said desk, sitting about four feet in front of me, and sit comfortably, waiting for others to arrive, with five minutes to spare. Which made me uncomfortable, but he seemed to be under no pressure from social norms to make small talk with me. He smiled pleasantly, his eyes up and to the side, and from the occasional twitch I caught of his lips, I realized he was going over his lecture in his head.

Well, that, at least, made me worry less about finding something to say to this strange man. Science teachers were always a little weird, but this guy… Hell, he was young. If I had to guess on looks alone, I'd say he was in his late twenties—his doctorate degree, however, told me that he was likely older than that. But maybe not. …But he ruined all of that… potential… by wearing those large glasses, the stuffy, clichéd brown 'professor's' sport coat with patches over the elbows, and being entirely too clean shaven. Really, I had a thing for intellectuals, and even I thought the nerd routine was a little much. I was so very thankful when others began trickling in. He didn't speak to them either—he offered a smile before turning his gaze back to the ceiling. The room wasn't full, but it was reasonably peopled, and precisely on the hour, he turned his gaze to us and smiled.

If I hadn't been so close to the front, I might have missed that his quiet, polite smile held a quirk of impishness that was actually kind of appealing. And with the glasses in the way, I certainly would have missed how blue his eyes were. But this didn't change my mind about him, per se—he was still weird, and the eyes and the smile only told me what I already knew… The man was wasting his potential. The next time I saw a win-a-free-makeover drop box, I was dropping his name in it.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Grissom, and this is Intro to Forensics. If you're not in the right class…" There was a shuffling, and two confused freshman picked up their things quickly and stumbled out. The man smiled. "Anyone else? … Great. I do have syllabi printed out and we will go over them, a bit, but I don't particularly feel the need to walk you through something that's going to be 90% the same as every other syllabus you've gotten so far. So, let's begin!" He slid from his desk and his face was so animated that I wasn't certain the glasses really mattered so much.

"First of all, please just call me 'Grissom'. My mom is the only person I know longer than five minutes who I'll tolerate calling me 'Dr.' and she's allowed—she's pushing sixty." He paused a little while we gave him weak smiles, and then continued. "Well, I got my undergrad and my Masters degrees at UCLA, and then moved to Chicago to get my PhD, because they had one of the foremost experts in forensic entomology on staff at the time. I am an forensic entomologist, which means that I use insects to solve crimes—but we'll get into that eventually. Friday we'll just be looking at Forensics as a broad science—there are so many subsets that I think it's appropriate to take a day to go over them. …Other than that, I… grew up in the L.A. area, I love baseball, and I'm currently living in Minneapolis—Go Twins!"

He smiled and moved to his first box—it was clear plastic, complete with air holes, and contained several insects—beetles and flies and maggots and then some… "While I pass around our specimens, I'd like to hear a little about each of you…" He placed the container on the desk of a blonde girl, down a few chairs to my right, and she squealed and slid out of her chair, backing away. He grinned. "They won't hurt you and they can't get out… C'mon. Look at them and pass it on. You… start with your name." He said, and the boy a few chairs to my left picked up the conversation. …There were far too many people in the room to remember all their names, much less what they said about themselves, but I was hardly listening.

As people were talking, he kept passing new 'specimens' to the blonde who had retaken her seat, and she looked quite alarmed, wondering when they would stop. When the first container reached me, I peered in—there were no bees, so I was okay. Bees were really the only insect that bothered me. The label said something to effect of these being typical insects used in linear regression, and I committed the information to memory before passing it on. The only thing I minded that he did pass was the stack of pictures—all from crime scenes, and all pretty gruesome. I knew what he was doing—it was obvious. It was what most teachers did with their syllabus… try to scare the undesirables into dropping the class. Most teachers didn't want lazy students… apparently, Dr. Grissom didn't want them to be squeamish either.

Still, the crime scene photos did bother me—they made me think of my own crime scene, the one that had thrown me into foster care—and I was torn between being angry with him for subjecting me to my own memories and being grateful… if this type of thing was going to be common in the class, it was best to know it now, rather than be surprised by it later.

When it came my time to speak, I was flustered—I hadn't been listening to anyone behind me, but rather eyeing a diagram about spatter patterns and analysis with interest. The person behind me cleared their throat and I looked up in surprise. "Oh. …Okay. Uh… I'm… Sara Sidle. I… I'm a junior. My major is theoretical physics, though I enjoy throwing in other science classes, and I'm from California originally."

I glanced at Dr. Grissom uncertainly, wondering if I'd missed anything he'd asked for specifically, but he gave me a disinterested smile—polite, but cursory—and turned his gaze over my shoulder, to the next person speaking. …That was strange. Teachers never overlooked me. I was the star pupil, always.

Always.

I frowned, thinking that he was probably judging me by my uncertainty—I hadn't been paying attention to people's introductions, after all, and it'd been pretty clear. In a day or so, he would clearly see the error of his ways and realize that I was the best student he would ever have. I nodded, putting my worries to rest, and listened as he finally collected the things that reached the end of the last row and the blonde girl shakily introduced herself. And then… he was talking and… and it was beautiful.

The man was passionate and vibrant and… and… beautiful. Not in any kind of sexual way, but he just… he no longer seemed old and boring and not living up to his potential. He seemed too big and bright for the room, the way he spoke about justice… about speaking for those who couldn't speak for themselves… about using science to save the world. The clothes and the glasses and the serious demeanor that he was really too old for faded away, and… and I knew that no matter what I'd been planning, I could not drop this class for Creative Writing. Not even if I had to look at bloody photos and relive my very worst memories each and every day because of it.

This man… this man was… He inspired me. He filled me up in a way that school and learning and other classes had always attempted and yet fallen short of. I knew, instinctually, that there was very little that he could not teach me… At least, when he was _this _man. …I had the feeling that he only bloomed like this when he was teaching—talking about what was clearly a calling more than a career. And I had the deepest, most profound urge to draw him out more… make him be this person always.

My eyes were bright and my steps light when I left the class, and I was so dazed that I forgot to stay late and make a good impression and ask a million questions. …I was still reeling. I was floating.

He was _amazing_.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews. I know some people said they didn't see this Sara as that OOC. But, there have been others who really think this is a stretch, which is why I said it was OOC. I don't think real Sara was like this Sara, but I definately think she had the potential for it. Either way, I hope you enjoy it-for some reason, I really enjoy writing her this way. :)

Also, in the last chapter I had Sara saying she was a sophomore, but she's supposed to be a junior. I'm going to fix it once I post this.

Let me know what you think! Next chapter, I think, will be Grissom's point of view. Probably. Pretty sure.

* * *

Chapter Two:

I worked in a bar called The Lantern. Its signage, hanging old and wooden above the doors, carried the words, "One if by Land, Two if by Sea." Chris Eddison—who went by Eddie—swore up and down that some cousin's mother's niece of Paul Revere had lived here, during the revolution—thus the name. Of course, he had absolutely no historical documentation to prove such a thing and the only thing about the building that _was_ historic was one large brick wall with a fireplace set into it. Everything else was… well, not new, but had definitely been built in the last fifty years.

Still, the atmosphere made you believe him, a little bit, despite your better judgment. It just felt so old-world… quiet and still and a little dark. Part of the reason I'd started working here was because of the _feel_ of the place. …The other part, of course, was that Eddie was probably the only bar owner in the city who'd let a sixteen year old work in his kitchen making frozen pizzas and plates of microwaved extreme nachos. And he was definitely the only one who'd let me be a cocktail waitress at eighteen, despite the law requiring I be nineteen to serve alcohol, just because he knew I needed the tips.

Eddie really was a good guy.

It was early, just past seven, and there were a few of our regulars—older gentlemen who came alone to drink, a couple in their thirties who ran a little boutique down the street who usually stopped after they closed up for the night—and then my group, in their usual spot. It was a round booth, made to fit five or six but which was usually forced to accommodate eight or nine, and it was about as far from the bar area as possible. They choose this spot, in part, because it was the only large booth in the place… but also because Eddie asked me to tell my friends to hide in the back if they insisted on being so "young and loud."

I didn't know how they _insisted_ on being young, although my best guess is that that was his way of telling me that he knew I was serving alcohol to the ones who I knew damn well were underage, and he just wanted it out of his immediate line of vision. He didn't confront me or tell me stop, however, and so I didn't. I did cut them off, however, when they got out of hand—the last thing Eddie needed was the fuzz here, asking questions. Hell—it was the last thing I needed.

Anni had brought some guy I didn't know with her, though I suspected he was the Creative Writer, and they were accompanied by a few others—Stacey, Josh, Derek. Stacey and Derek were fucking. No, not dating—they each had casual relationships outside of each other, and they never went to dinner or held hands or exchanged sweet nothings. But once every week or so, they would go home together instead of alone, and didn't bother to hide it or the evidence of it the next day—beard burn on her neck, love bites on his. Josh was single, and lamented it deeply—and was presently eyeing the new guy with nothing short of lust in his eyes. I looked him over again from where I stood at the bar, waiting on their order.

He reminded me of Vanilla Ice.

I wrinkled my nose in distaste and wondered if I genuinely felt this way or if I was just being mean because the past week had absolutely not gone my way.

Friday, the next time I'd had class with Dr. Grissom, I'd taken extra time over my lunch hour to primp—I didn't want it to look like I was trying too hard, but I had broken out my tightest pair of jeans and a fitted, long-sleeved shirt, sans the bra. He had spent the hour going over the different areas of forensics, and had tried to tailor his lecture to our class. He'd asked everyone's majors and had had someone from each help him. For example, he'd taken an art major and had them speculate on how you could recreate faces—talking about facial symmetry and the typical facial features for people of different races and ages. He had to use a few stand-ins where there wasn't representation, but when he got to physics, he chose the only other student in the class. And she was sitting in the back, hardly paying attention, while I'd had my hand in the air.

So on Monday, I decided I needed to be a bit more aggressive. …The only way I really knew to get close to a teacher so that seduction of any kind could begin was to become their favorite student. From there, it was easy. But despite coming early, he'd hardly spoken to me, having been immersed in his notes, and then he'd snubbed me in class… I borrowed a red plaid skirt from Anni and donned white knee socks and a little white t-shirt, baring my midriff. If anything would draw his attention—and put him in the mind frame I wanted him in—it was having a naughty school girl sitting front and center in his lecture. Anni asked me if I wanted a sucker to take with me when she saw me (because, of course, she knew what I was doing…) and I snapped where she could shove her tootsie pop before slamming the door.

Maybe I should have gone with the lollipop, however, because my outfit didn't seem to faze him.

Well, no—that's not true. He raised his eyebrows when I first walked in, my usual twenty minutes early, but turned back to his notes again. I had time to note the look of surprise in his eyes—the question pressing against the inside of his lips that he wouldn't let escape—but I didn't see anything close to it again. He didn't even let himself eye me when he thought I wasn't looking. But he didn't seem to be avoiding me with purpose either. Not like he wanted to look and wouldn't let himself… But just like I sincerely didn't draw his interest. We were going over some of the basic "laws" of forensics. Everyone takes something in and takes something out… and I knew them like the back of my hand.

I asked intelligent questions, I contributed to discussion, I answered his inquiries correctly, and I stayed late to ask further questions.

The man was nothing but polite to me—answering my questions, but not indicating that I was anything but just another student to him. …I had never been just another student—not even to female teachers. I had always been a favorite… a breath of fresh air… a new challenge to re-inspire them to love their tired subjects… I couldn't decide if I was more angry or upset. I knew that I had tears pricking my eyes as I left class that day, smarting with indignation at his blatant lack of interest.

Wednesday, I toned it down again. Looking like a hoochie wasn't going to make a sometimes-dowdy, serious professor like Dr. Grissom look up from his notes and his bugs. At least, if the plaid skirt hadn't done it, that certainly wouldn't. I went back to only slightly provocative—short shorts, but a t-shirt that was plain and offered full-coverage. It was the first morning he spoke to me, other than to say hello and that, yes, it was okay for me to be there early again.

I stood in the doorway, tilting my head once again in a silent request—one I had never felt the need to make of another teacher—and he quirked a smile. "One of these days you'll just be on time for class and I'll already be filing a missing person's report." He teased. I blushed and felt my face light up.

I wanted to lean over his desk and ask in my best bedroom voice, "So you're saying you'd miss me…?" But I didn't. I bit my bottom lip in my very best attempt at looking sweetly uncertain and moved to take my usual seat. "I'll probably always be early… I've got a long lunch period before this and I get impatient waiting for this class to start…"

There. Not only had I let him know that I was available for some private "tutoring" before class, I'd complimented his class—and it was clear that the subject matter was more a calling than a career. But though he smiled, he didn't seem… like the information meant anything to him. He just did that polite nod again and let his eyes flicker to his notes. I had to act fast before he got lost in work again!

"You grew up in California, right?"

He lifts his head, a little uncertainly. "That's right…" He's waiting for me to explain why I would ask, and I shuffle my feet beneath my seat in what I hope is an endearing fashion.

"I just… I grew up outside of San Francisco. It's nice to meet another native—it's so hard to get used to the snow…"

He smiled genuinely then. "It is—Chicago was that way for me. Minneapolis too. Everyone is excited about a white Christmas and I'm wishing I could still walk down to the beach to see Christmas lights on the boats…"

"My brother had a sail boat, when I was little… He used to let me string Christmas lights on it, though he pretended that it really bothered him…" I feel the smile on my face twisting a little and I quickly adjust it—I hadn't necessarily meant to get personally involved in what I was telling him. I just knew from experience that people opened up when you did—something in the human psyche, maybe, I don't know. I just know that it works.

And his smile is a little softer, though his eyes hold something I can't distinguish, and that bothers me. He clears his throat and glances from his notes to me. "It's nice to meet a fellow sun-lover. I, uh…" He gestures to the papers in front of him, and though I feel like snapping at him inside, on the outside I give him a small smile that I know makes me look like a sex kitten.

"Oh! Of course. I'm sorry…" I tug my textbook from my backpack and open it—a little conspicuously—to the page I'm on—about twelve chapters in, though we're still on chapter one in class. I can't tell if he notices, and he doesn't speak to me again until class starts. I spend the time mulling over what our brief encounter means—we'd had a moment, of that I was sure. I just… wasn't sure if the moment was because he missed California, or because of me. The former was far more likely, especially considering his abrupt break in the conversation.

I had just resolved myself to stay after class and ask questions when he stopped his lecture a minute early in order to tell us that he had an appointment to keep immediately after class so if we had any questions or anything we needed to discuss, we could call his office and leave a message or talk to him on Monday. And he was one of the first ones out the door.

It was now Thursday night, and I had done almost nothing but think about him in the intervening time between now and then. Nothing I was doing even seemed to register with him, must less tempt him, but I wasn't quite ready to ask Anni for her advice—she didn't have a problem with me sleeping with teachers, but she thought my interest in "geezers" was not only hilarious but disgusting. I would endure endless harassment and, should we ever run into Dr. Grissom in public, she would be… less than discreet. And I was beginning to think that with a man like him, discretion was pretty important.

I took my tray of drinks—mostly cheap beer—and dragged my ass up to their table, passing them around and collecting wadded bills that were tossed my way through the midst of laughter. I've walked in on the end of a joke, apparently told by Anni, and New Guy is giving her a look like he wants to put her up on an alter and spent the rest of his days staring at her in supplicating worship. Which is not an altogether uncommon response to my curvy, vivacious roommate… She'd had a boyfriend, last year, who had said she was like the sun—this beautiful thing, too bright to look at directly, that had this gravitational force that could and would not be resisted. He was going to be an astrophysicist, but clearly not a very good one…

Anni wasn't a sun, bright and beautiful though she may be. She was a black hole, and her pull was inescapable… but there was no life-giving force within. She was as simultaneously hollow and full of baggage as I was, and heat didn't always mean warmth.

She gives me a look—an arch of a carefully shaped eyebrow—and I know she's asking for an opinion on Vanilla Ice. She had clearly liked him if she'd only made him wait a week for this little liaison, and I supposed he was cute, in a strange kind of way. He wasn't really Anni's type—she generally went for guys with tattoos and piercings who played in bands (featuring lyrics with absolutely no originality, and an extreme amount of angst), who were ripped and dangerous and treated her like 90% of a person once they'd slept together. …Come to think of it, Vanilla Ice might be a nice change of pace for her.

I gave her a small smile before introducing myself, and her resulting smile told me that she got it. His name was Todd and when he lifted his arm to shake my hand, I caught sight of a tattoo on the inside of his bicep… Well, at least I knew that some things didn't change.

I got off at midnight, but I stayed for a few drinks, feeling particularly depressed at the idea of heading to class the next day and being ignored again. I couldn't remember being so impressed by a teacher before, which was certainly saying something—if nothing else, Dr. Anderson was a rather inspiring man in his own right. But there was just… something. And maybe I would have been able to accept his disinterest in me as a lover if he'd still revered me as a student… But the lack of attention was grating on me.

When Josh caught sight of some sexy man meat at the bar, he asked me to go grab shots at the bar with him, so he had an excuse to talk to them… and I spent the rest of the night pounding shots and playing quarters with three gay guys who couldn't seem to decide in which order they wanted to fuck each other. I'm about to suggest a sequence which my tequila-ridden brain has deemed the most fair for all involved when Eddie tells me that he's called me a cab, and it's waiting for me outside. He's always doing that—taking care of me. Anni and New Guy… Todd… pile in with me, and then we're headed home, and I'm trying to find the words to tell her not to sleep with him, because then he'll realize that she isn't the sun, but they don't come.

I fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed, but I woke up to squeaking springs at least three times. My brain was too fogged to be entirely sure that it was three separate times—it certainly could have been one time. I had no concept of how long I drifted in between them. But when I woke for class the next day, to an alarm—one I rarely had to use and usually turned off when I left the house, without ever giving it a chance to ring—I felt like shit.

Like shit run over twice and then shit on again.

A single glance in the mirror told me that, at best, I would look like I'd been up all night. At worst… Well, I wondered what Dr. Grissom's opinion on coming to class with a hangover was.

With my luck, he wouldn't even notice.


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Hope you enjoy! Thanks for the reviews! Let me know what you guys think of Grissom! :)

Oh! And I meant to do this forever ago, but Pati H (the one who reviewed Breathing), if you're reading this, I just wanted to thank you personally for the very, very kind review. I would have emailed you, but FF doesn't let you write emails in reviews, so there was just a blank spot where you tried to leave yours and this was the only way I could think to contact you. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciated it. Thanks!

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Chapter Three:

I felt a little out of sorts, here in Boston. …To say that my leaving Minneapolis was difficult would be an understatement—the lesser reason was that, a month previous, my girlfriend had left the county.

Well, I mean, she'd just gotten her Masters in Biological Anthropology and would be spending the next year in Madagascar, studying dental adaptations in lemurs. So she hadn't left me, really, and we had hesitantly agreed to attempt to stay together. We were both practical people and had only been dating exclusively a few months before she left—neither of us under the disillusion that we were in love. But I liked her, certainly, and she felt the same. We both believed that it was a relationship that _could _go somewhere, if given the chance. And despite my absolute love for my job, there was a part of me that could be very happy traveling the globe in the pursuit of research and enlightenment. We weren't getting ahead of ourselves, and we had both agreed that there could be a no-fault break up in the intervening time. If one of us met someone and wanted to pursue it, we were free to—we would just give the courtesy of letting the other know, first.

The larger reason was much more bleak: A week after she left, my college roommate and best friend—only friend, really… the guys at the lab didn't count—had been killed in a freak accident—he was a coroner in Chicago still, and an abandoned building they were trying to take a body from had collapsed. True to form, he'd thrown himself over the young CSI he'd been on the scene with and quite probably saved her life, at the expense of his own.

Feeling suddenly very isolated, the invitation from Harvard had been almost a godsend and, when I'd approached Philip with it, he was nothing but supportive. The man was my mentor, but there was definitely more to the way he'd look at me when I'd come to him, clutching the letter in shaking, clammy hands—paternal, almost. And though I loved the man—not quite like a father, of course, but that level of respect and desire to emulate can't help but turn to love—we both knew that he couldn't help me.

I needed to get away from life as it was, but I felt old in Boston.

My colleagues were men and women twice by age, treating me with a deference I was unaccustomed to. I was revered, in the world of academia, mostly because I'd chosen a niche that was vastly under populated and been successful in it. It was not, as people assumed, because I was such a bright young prodigy. And working at Harvard—_Harvard_—I felt like I had to be a certain way… act a certain way.

Not that I'd ever really been young and reckless, but I was a man in my early thirties. I had the right to be a young professional, didn't I? I didn't want to eat lunch alone in my office—a tiny space set aside for visiting professors—instead of with the guys at the crime lab, whether I'd been close to them or not. But what was the alternative? Go for lunch and listen to my peers discuss their wives and children? Or, better yet, their prostate issues? As far as I was concerned, I didn't want to even consider the idea that I wouldn't be able to properly… function… for another fifty years, at least.

And living alone in a furnished apartment—sleeping in a bed that wasn't mine and using dishes that weren't mine and showering in a bathroom that wasn't mine—it wasn't much better than living out of a hotel. In my first week in Boston, before classes started, I had been about ready to pack up and go home… even if "home" was Marina del Ray and not my cozy little apartment in Minneapolis.

I just felt like I was too old to run home to my mom when life got tough and… and I'd already established that staying in Minnesota just emphasized my loneliness. So I stuck it out, and my first week of classes was… nice. I'd been a T.A. on my share of occasions and I was no stranger to guest lecturing, so I found it rather easy to slip into being a teacher… especially since most of my classes were intro levels that I could have done in my sleep. By the time I'd gotten through my first week and gotten a feel for things, I was no longer panicking. I had settled in a bit, started classes… Although there was a girl—a very young girl—in one of my classes who… unsettled me.

It's the damndest thing—I'm usually good at reading people, but she's… harder.

My first impression of her was slight irritation—she'd flinched upon seeing a box containing crime scene photos and while I knew that this was the natural response for someone not used to seeing carnage on a daily basis, I had also spent most of the day dealing with young girls squirming and squealing at my specimens. It got old. If you were in a science class, you should expect to encounter things dealing with the science in question… right?

But no—it's a lie that that was my first impression. My very first was that this girl had sex legs. The kind of legs you take a glance at and, without conscious intention, immediately picture wrapped around you. Of course, I pushed that though aside… though she later said she was a junior, I was having a hard time believing she was twenty. She didn't look twenty.

She was early, too, which implied that she would be a good student… and though she inspected all but the photos with an interest and intent that told me before she did that she was a science major of some kind, she didn't seem to be paying attention. Even as she was saying that she was a junior and a theoretic physics major, she was speaking like an airhead. When she added that she was from California originally, I immediately thought she must have divided her time in high school between a prep school and the beach and that she was here because her family had some kind of influence. I wanted to write her off, but I couldn't.

In large part because the next class period she sauntered in, early again, exuding a kind of confidence that you would expect from _that_ girl in high school—the girl who never noticed me, when I was in high school …The girl I was certain she had been. Small but perfectly perky breasts bouncing slightly and, oh fucking hell, no bra, and the tightest jeans I had ever seen. She looked like she'd been sewn into them. I focused on my upcoming lecture, sitting behind my desk, trying to talk down my erection with only just enough success to not embarrass myself by the time class started. And I intentionally avoided her without trying to seem like I was doing so, just because I knew that if I allowed my gaze to linger on her again, I would definitely be… inappropriate. Younger than the average professor I might be, but lusting after a student was still a big no-no.

And she was at least ten years my junior, if not more. …Probably more.

It was a non-issue, really. I mean, did I really need a read on the girl? Dumb stereotype or dedicated science nerd, she would still be graded based on what she turned in, and it wasn't like my lusting would ever amount to anything. That went without saying—it never crossed my mind that something might occur… just that I would be horrified to be caught eyeing the young beauty when I was supposed to be this brilliant scientist and asset to the University.

I called Allison on Saturday and that helped me get my head back on straight—because she was a woman who had me in a constant state of awe. She was smart and dedicated and professional. She was a woman among women, and I still couldn't figure out what had interested her in me. Regardless, talking to her had helped. She was really excited about her work, of course, and I was a little envious of that—I wasn't far enough into any of my classes to be too excited about them—but I was hopeful that things would turn around. I even subtly, in my own embarrassed way, suggested we… well, that we…

When she'd called me from hotels, on her layovers, she'd… introduced me to phone sex. And I thought… Well, that that would be good for both of us, you know, to relieve some tension. But, of course, she didn't have a lot of privacy so…

It wasn't really a rejection, per se, although it did sting a little… She couldn't even attempt to be quiet?

Still, though, talking to her reminded me why I was here in the first place—because, right now, there wasn't anything for me in Minneapolis. I was here, in Boston, to get a grip back on my life—and on my psyche—not to eye the young coeds. So I went to class on Monday entirely unconcerned about the young girl—Sara Sidle. Sure, she was bound to be a little distracting, but what beautiful twenty year old in tight clothing wasn't? I wasn't worried. If there was anything I was good at, it was restraint.

And then she strolled in looking like she was starring in a porn specifically designed to exploit the recent fantasies I'd been quashing and the guilt that came with them—she might as well have had her hair in pigtails and been sucking on a lollipop. Tiny white shirt, plaid skirt that only barely covered her, knee-high socks… the only thing missing was the tie and the come hither stare.

No, never mind—just the tie.

And she stayed late to ask questions. As if it hadn't taken every ounce of my self control to not stare at her throughout the hour. They were intelligent, well thought-out questions, too. Ones that deserved my full attention. It is a testament to my mother, who raised a gentleman she'll have you know, that I was able to politely answer her… though I knew I could have been more thorough and really stoked the flames of her… curiosity.

Jesus Christ.

Although, this was also the day I became a little more wary of my complex, unreadable student. …Because when she ran out of questions, mostly because I was unable to answer fully to give her something to build off of, she seemed disappointed. When my eyes, which so desperately wanted to stray lower than her face, held her gaze, she seemed to move her body in a way that urged them lower instead. …Which made me question the outfit altogether. She had to've known what she looked like when she left the house this morning.

It was a crazy thought—and a dangerous one—but it occurred to me that she might be seeking out my interest. My absolutely inappropriate, completely unethical interest. But why? For a grade? That's doesn't make sense—her questions alone told me that she didn't need to tempt me in order to secure any grade she wanted in this class. …She didn't fit the stereotype—any of them—and I found myself replaying our limited interactions around in my head, again and again, trying to decipher her intentions. …Or, at least, that was my excuse for constantly thinking about her.

I was relieved when Wednesday rolled around and she seemed to be back to her normal, tight-fitting, too-young-for-this-old-geezer, hot as hell clothing choices (they were better than the fantasy-inducing school girl ensemble had been), and told myself that it really was foolish to sit in silence with the girl for twenty minutes every day before class. So when she appeared, as expected, I forced myself to approach the situation lightly, and I teased her. "One of these days you'll just be on time for class and I'll already be filing a missing person's report."

She responded that she would probably always be early—she had a long break before this class and got anxious waiting for it. I smiled softly, pleased she was enjoying the class but not wanting to say so, exactly… It felt so… teacher-y. I had liked the way she responded—the unexpected light in her eyes—when I teased her. I wanted to keep that. My eyes flickered to my notes as I tried to come up with a clever response or something… something… better, but she was too fast for me. Before I knew it, we were discussing Christmas in California and stringing lights on sailboats and there was a moment…

Indescribable.

For the briefest of moments, her smile twisted into a look that was almost pained, though her lips stayed curled up, and I had the incredibly shocking feeling that this was the first moment I had really seen this girl. I had thought about her consistently and more and more frequently with each passing class… I'd analyzed and speculated and… it was for nothing. …Or, for very little, I supposed, because the existence of a mask was telling in itself, even if you didn't know what was beneath it. The glimpse, however, shook me deeply. I couldn't tell you _what_ I saw, only that it was... haunting.

I stopped our conversation then, and made the excuse that I had an appointment after class that was unavoidable, simply because I now expected her to stay with questions and I couldn't do it, today. Having to sit and discuss the basics of a science with a school girl perched on the edge of my desk, thighs precariously close to me and my eye level, had been hell… having to do the same with that kind of vulnerability, sitting open and ominous and unspeakable, between us…

It was more than I can handle, and I took my out gracelessly.

So the next Friday, when she came in clearly hung over, I couldn't decide how to feel about it. Guilty? Disappointed? Sympathetic? Did this prove or disprove any of my theories and, if so, which one? I could smell the tequila coming from her pores, see the defiance in her eyes and the way she turned her head away, like she was daring me to point out that she might feel embarrassed or ashamed. I didn't want to stay after class and let this Sara—this prickly, difficult, less confident Sara—question me any more than I had wanted it when she was clad in a sex outfit or when she had let her mask slip… but today, I felt like she might need the company, even if it was the superficial kind, detached and professional and academic.

She didn't stay, however, and I didn't bother trying to lie to myself about why I was thinking about her.

I was worried about her.


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Thanks so much for all the reviews and I apologize, again, for the delay between updates. There's been... a lot to deal with, lately. I know that I'm far less likely to review when updates are slower, just because you lose momentum, so I just want to let you all know how much I appreciate each and every review I do get. Thank you, thank you. I can't tell you how wonderful I feel about my readers. 3

Enjoy! (And Go Twins!)

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Chapter Four:

The disappointment I saw in Dr. Grissom's eyes that day was enough to guarantee that I wouldn't be staying late for drinks on school nights anymore. There was a part of me that wanted to snort with disgust and toss my hair and tell him—mentally, of course—to go fuck himself if he was going to judge me with those eyes of his.

But first and foremost, I was a brain. Then a body, then a heart, and finally, if such a thing existed, a soul… but my intelligence made me who I was, even if I didn't always listen to my faculties in their correct order. When I wanted something bad enough, I slowed myself down and made sure I did. Listen, that is. In order.

I wanted Dr. Grissom more than I wanted the next desperate, fleeting, gasp of air in my lungs.

So my brain told me that a snotty "Eff You" from the eighteen year old he had hardly noticed would be ineffectual. And it might ruin my chances with the man indefinitely. So I stayed quiet, let myself out of the classroom on Friday with as little attention drawn to myself as possible, and spent my few hours before working thinking this thing out. …A man who didn't give a shit about me didn't waste his time or effort looking sad and disappointed that I'd come in sweating Jose Cuervo. I realized with a jolt of surprise that the attention he'd paid me on Friday had been… not excessive, but abundant, compared to the other days of class.

This was the first moment in which I realized Dr. Grissom was going to be difficult to seduce beyond simply getting him to want me—because he was surprisingly hard to read. I stood out to him, to some extent—he had an opinion of me, otherwise how could I have failed to live up to his expectations or, if he didn't have those yet, his hopes? And yet it had taken me this long to even become aware of it… I had never in my life been happier to disappoint a teacher. And though I had Saturday night off, I made an excuse about awful cramps that I knew Anni wouldn't buy because our cycles were only about a day off each other and stayed home. It was the first time I'd made the choice not to go out on a night I wasn't working and didn't have school the next day.

Instead, I put my considerable efforts into analyzing Dr. Grissom. He was very closed, very controlled, but he had let it slip that he had noticed me—I had affected him in some way. Which meant that I was doing something right, but clearly not everything. It also meant that the man was… probably wary of me. Even if he wasn't, he was intensely private. So this whole thing would not be the result of a few study sessions and the occasional, "accidental" peek up a short skirt. No, the man was… so much more professional than that. More complicated than my previous professors. I was willing to bet he'd never slept with a student before, so that would be something I would have to help him overcome…

I remembered, too, the way he lit up that first day, talking about his subject. He never failed to look excited, but he hadn't looked quite so rapturous since that day… and I wanted to pull the man out, a little. Test his boundaries, once he'd let me in. I wanted to show him that he could glow like that all the time. I wanted to see him glow—make him glow. I wanted him to lose control, just a little.

I stuck to my moderate clothing—if my shirt was low-cut, then I wore pants. If my skirt was short, I made sure my chest was covered. And I cut out anything that Anni would have called acceptable for a night out on the town. And I all but ignored Dr. Grissom, the first week after my hangover. I answered questions, of course, although I realized that the way I had been doing so previously might have been a touch on the arrogant side, and tried to be a little more demure. I didn't stay after class, I always had something to do in the time I spent there early—I didn't want to change my schedule and tip him off that I was changing lots of things—so that he would not feel like I was there for him, and I kept my eyes away from him as much as possible.

This was surprisingly difficult—despite the façade of boring and bookish, I had come to realize that he was hiding more than you'd expect under those conservative button-ups and ties. Careful, discrete, observation had told me that he had broad, muscled shoulders, well-shaped but not bulky arms, and a chest that was probably begging to have a tongue dragged across it. I didn't speculate about what I would find beneath his waist, however—not because I wasn't curious, but because I had always enjoyed surprises. Growing up, my brother always searched for presents ahead of time… but not me. I didn't even want to guess—the surprise was better than the gift itself, unless you speculated… because that opened up room for disappointment.

I expected that, after a week of being treated indifferently, Dr. Grissom would be a little more receptive to finding me an excited student who wanted as much supplemental knowledge as possible. My plan was to be on my way out, that Monday, and suddenly "remember" a question I had wanted to ask during the lecture and forgotten… and let it lead into a broader conversation, if possible.

If it didn't lead there, however, I wouldn't force it. Something else I realized about Dr. Grissom—he wasn't a man who appreciated women throwing themselves at him, which implied, beyond his gentlemanly leanings, that he enjoyed the chase. I had to at least let him feel like he was pursuing me, even when he didn't want to let himself pursue me.

However, that Monday, things occurred… differently.

Dr. Felton was creepy, as usual, but that was the norm. Surprisingly, my problems did not come from him… they came from my T.A. in my Organic Chem class. Apparently, the syllabus had said that there was no class today. He was waiting in the classroom to remind anyone who showed up… but I was the only one. I turned to leave, once Ken told me, but he stopped me… and his, uh, _proposition_ might have been the most insulting thing I'd ever heard.

"Wait. Sara. …It is Sara, right?"

I quirked a smile—from a love interest that would be insulting, but from him it was all but meaningless. "Right. What's up?"

"Listen, since you've got an unexpected free hour… D'you wanna grab a cup of coffee?"

"Oh… You know, I was actually thinking I'd use the time to pick up a couple books from the library I need. I have a paper coming up in my Forensics class and…"

"I'll go with you." He volunteered, which seemed strange to me. At my narrowed eyes, he continued. "Or, you know… I mean, you could do that anytime. Let's head over to the Union."

I frowned. I really hated when guys were overly insistent. "No thanks. I'm just… not really interested, Ken." And I turned to head to the door at the bottom of the lecture bowl, just behind him. He moved in front of me, blocking my path.

"We hit it off, the first day of class…"

I frowned, making the effort to sidestep him several times, despite knowing exactly how that would go down—we both shuffled awkwardly right and left and while I frowned more deeply, he seemed to become more and more amused. "We had a conversation. I still have the right to tell you to fuck off."

His eyes flashed and I foolishly tried to push past him, which only gave him the opportunity to catch my upper arms in his hands and press me against the wall beside the door. "The way I hear it, you don't really tell anyone to fuck off, do you? If you don't want coffee, there's a storage closet down the hall…"

I kneed him in the balls, hard, just as someone to my left said, "Ken!" in a shocked and angry voice. I turned my head, seeing Dr. Anderson and Dr. Grissom both hovering in the doorway. I wondered vaguely how much they'd heard, knowing that the other door, fifteen feet to my right, was open. Sounds carried quite well out these doors and into the hallway beyond when they weren't closed. I was blushing, but gathered myself together rather quickly, stepping over the groaning form on the floor in front of me.

"That's… assault…" croaked the prone T.A. and despite having the very pronounced urge to kick him while he was down, I turned my frantic eyes to Dr. Anderson instead. This was… not entirely uncalculated. My first instinct was to look to Dr. Anderson for protection, but I have to admit that a part of my brain told me to avoid Dr. Grissom's eye line altogether, to keep up the deception. Dr. Anderson stepped forward, slipping a fatherly arm around my shoulders, disregarding Ken entirely.

"Come on, Sara… We were just headed to my office."

And so I walked, pressed to the side of my physics teacher, accompanied by a guest lecturer in the biology and anthropology departments, out of the chemistry building. I wondered, vaguely, why the two of them had been in the building at all, much less together, but I thought that was maybe something I didn't have the right to ask. I mean, I could ask Dr. Anderson anything, but I was still trying to be very precise with Dr. Grissom. I didn't want to overstep some boundary. Though the three of us walked together, it was in silence until we were in Dr. Anderson's office and Dr. Grissom had shut the door behind us.

Anderson let me go then, moving to his coffeemaker and pouring me a cup that was already made without asking—the man knew me well. "Here you go… I'd offer you something stronger, but I guess you're a little young for it, huh?" He teased gently, and I noticed Dr. Grissom raise an eyebrow. I knew we were both thinking of the Friday in which he'd looked so let down—a day I was coming very close to permanently labeling as _the incident_—and I drank deeply rather than responding with anything more than a "Mmm…"

He moved behind his desk, giving me space he seemed to think I needed, and I slid into a chair I had literally spent hours upon hours in. It sounds strange, but I could spend hours just talking to Dr. Anderson. About anything and everything under the sun. Dr. Grissom slowly slid into the other seat before the man's desk, and with a certain amount of surprise I realized that we were in closer proximity than perhaps we'd ever been. Fighting back the urge to let my knee rub against his innocently, I instead moved my legs to one side, to avoid the contact altogether. And the flicker in his eyes, visible in my periphery, told me that he was a little surprised.

I had spent the entire past week—in which I had been backing off a little, to put him at ease—cataloguing his reactions and his emotional cues. I thought I had a pretty good read on him, thus far… and if I had to guess, I would say that him being surprised by me moving my legs indicated more than I wanted it to—he had already suspected me of being interested in him. …It was good, then, that I'd slowed down and backed off… but I would need to approach this cautiously.

I was not, by nature, a cautious person. I was impulsive. I was much better at slipping up onto a teacher's desk, legs parted enough to be inviting without seeming whorish, and asking him how he was ever going to help me understand… _Insert smutty reference to whatever subject the teacher in question taught._ Sometimes those were difficult, but my anatomy teacher had been so easy that I often made him laugh by coming up with new things he needed to "teach" me while we lay entangled in afterglow. Well… his afterglow. For a man who taught what he did, you would think he would have been a little more knowledgeable about the female body but… well, you couldn't expect them all to be amazing.

But with Dr. Grissom, a lot more tact was necessary. He would not appreciate me asking him to help me understand how the ALS could detect when two people had been in a place or… making some comment about not tearing his head off, after, like the praying mantis. …God, entomology and forensics were hard. Biology though, that was easy. Maybe, if I got the chance, I would appeal to his broader area of expertise…

Anderson sighed. "Do you want to press charges, honey?"

I looked up to him in surprise. It wasn't that Dr. Anderson was never affectionate, but pet names were… strange. It didn't feel creepy—it still felt very paternal and protective—but I wondered if Dr. Grissom was interpreting it that way. Slowly, I shook my head. "No. I… I'll talk to him. I won't charge him if he doesn't charge me—tit for tat."

"I'll talk to him." Dr. Grissom stepped in before Anderson could argue at all. I blinked in surprise, meeting his gaze fully for the first time all day. ...Hell, probably for the first time in over a week. The way the blue in his eyes seared through me…

"Thank you Gil." Anderson murmured quietly, and I mulled that name over in my head a little. Gil? As part of his title, it sounded natural: Dr. Gil Grissom. But on its own… it struck me as simultaneously intimately sensual and strangely… archaic. Was anyone really named 'Gilbert' anymore? I found myself wrinkling my nose a little and smirking, and a bemused smile lit his face up too—belatedly, I realized it was in response to my smirk. He had thought I was smiling _at_ him rather that about him. But still, he'd returned it, hadn't he?

Dr. Anderson cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, where are my manners? Sara, have you met Dr. Grissom? He's the guest professor everyone has been so excited about…" The older man gazed affectionately at Dr. Grissom and I felt a surge of… jealousy, maybe? I didn't want Dr. Anderson to look that dotingly on anyone but me. I frowned, glancing at him out of the side of my eyes, realizing for perhaps the first time that he was closer to my age than Anderson's.

"We've met." I said, a little shortly, and I saw the surprise on my professor's face at my tone. He frowned a little too and cleared his throat.

"We uh… Sara's in my Intro to Forensics class…"

"Oh, that's right! You were so excited about that! How's it going?" Anderson asks, looking at me—and under his steady, reassuring gaze, I realize that affection for the young teacher doesn't really compare with the almost-paternal way he sees me. I relax a little, and offer a smile.

"It's pretty good. Slow, you know, but that's what you have to expect from an Intro class…" I admit it, I was being a little… mean. Part of it was to assure myself of my position in Dr. Anderson's book. I was the brilliant student and, brilliant guest professor though he may be, Dr. Grissom was still the teacher who wasn't managing to challenge me. The flash in his eyes at my words told me my message had gotten across. Another part of me was trying to provoke him, a little. I wasn't sure what had happened, but all of a sudden he was gifting me with the full weight of his gaze, something he hadn't done much of since I'd met him. And I wanted to keep it.

Maybe I did need to play a little hard to get… hot and cold… It had given me the most lingering response, other than _the incident._

I drank deeply from my cup while Anderson and Grissom then took up talking about the class in question, apparently assuming that it was natural that I would need some time after Ken. I didn't correct them, but I was solicited often enough at the bar for the whole Ken thing to be merely a minor irritation. I let their words slip around me, analyzing what had just happened and trying to predict how this would change our interactions… how I would have to modify my future actions in regard to this. I didn't come back to the conversation until I heard my name.

"Sara? …Sara!"

I blinked in surprise and looked at Dr. Anderson. "…I'm sorry. I was somewhere else. What were you saying?"

He chuckled and repeated himself. "I was telling you that Dr. Grissom and I were just over in the Chemistry building discussing an interdisciplinary science seminar being held in a couple of weeks… open to the community, featuring speakers from every science department…"

"Oh." I said, not certain what response he was waiting for. He gave me a wry smile.

"And I was saying that you would really enjoy it and should try to make it. Will you be working?"

"Oh!" I said, with more comprehension. "I, um… I'm not sure. Even if I am, though, I can convince Eddie to let me come in late if I have some notice…"

"Great." Anderson responded, and then glanced at his watch. "Oh! We'd better get down to the lecture bowl." He stood up, picking his suit jacket up from the back of his chair and slipping into it. I picked up my book bag and set the empty coffee mug over by his coffeemaker, and then stepped outside the door while both men followed me out. I watched at Dr. Anderson locked his door and then expected he and Dr. Grissom to take their leaves of each other… Dr. Grissom heading towards his building and Anderson and I heading down to class… but instead, they both headed in the direction of the lecture bowl as if this were entirely expected. I frowned, uncertain, and hurried to catch up to them.

Was Dr. Grissom coming to class with us?

They both stepped through the doors ahead of me and over to the front, without offering any explanation and, frowning, I was left to find my usual seat, front and center. …Apparently, Dr. Grissom was coming to class with us.


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: I have to once again thank you all sooo much for your wonderful reviews and for being patient with me while life kicks my butt. Buuut, I'm back to being on a school schedule now and, apparently, that is more conducive to writing than the summer schedule. Which doesn't make any sense. Still, I'm hoping. :)

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

* * *

Chapter Five:

I was torn, in Anderson's class, in how to behave. Did I act like my usual self, assured and confident and irritating to everyone else by virtue of my endless questions and ability to answer most of his questions before he asked them… or did I stay retreated, aloof, trying to play hot and cold?

I realized with a bit of surprise that I was apparently not the seductress I'd thought myself—I'd always fallen into my bedfellows pretty easily, and I was starting to realize that it was not my seduction but simply my willingness that had facilitated those affairs. Because the man could not be so much more complicated than most, could he? So much more that I was constantly second-guessing and he was only just beginning to show that he might find me more noticeable than any other student half-assing it in the back row of his classes?

I still wanted him, badly, but there was now a twinge of something else in there. I mean, it was a pride thing—I didn't want to admit that my affairs were the product of me being easy as opposed to the product of me being irresistible, the risk to their careers be damned—but it still wasn't worth sacrificing Anderson's opinion of me.

Dr. Anderson didn't explain to anyone why Dr. Grissom was here, beyond saying that he'd be observing the class today, and then he launched immediately into a quick summation of the lecture we'd heard last time, for those who were gone or simply couldn't remember, and began his new material. And when the first question came—the large, abstract one that he always asked in the beginning with the expectation that no one would be able to answer it until he'd finished his lecture (except me, of course), I bit my lip, uncertain… I watched Dr. Anderson turn a surprised gaze to me, having expected an answer already. I clenched my teeth and curled my toes, trying to hold back, but when he opened his mouth to begin his lecture, I broke.

My hand shot into the air as the words pushed themselves through my lips.

Anderson trumped Grissom.

I spent the rest of the class period desperately trying to redeem myself in Dr. Anderson's eyes for the hesitation I had shown at first—I had never worked harder for his approval, and the crease between his brows told me that he was simultaneously concerned and impressed. I didn't look at Dr. Grissom. I didn't want to know what I was doing to what had looked so promising in Anderson's office by being consistent—the hot and cold had been the only thing that had raised his attention, thus far.

I stayed to ask questions, though I understood the topic, because you could always, always go deeper than what was covered in an undergrad class, even if it was upper level. Generally speaking, you could always go deeper than what could be covered in an hour. Dr. Grissom hovered, but I refused to meet his gaze, and eventually he interrupted us to take his leave of Anderson, saying he needed to prepare for his own class.

It was at this point that I realized the three of us had remained in the empty classroom for a full hour—I had only a half an hour to get to Dr. Grissom's class, but I was always twenty minutes early. But my silence provoked Anderson to gently squeeze my forearm and ask me again if I was okay, after Ken… and I realized that he thought my erratic behavior was a result of the T.A.'s unwanted attention. I thought of correcting him, but didn't—I would have no reason to give him for the way I was acting, and… well, I liked how he was protective of me. I liked feeling like he worried about me. I wasn't just any other student. I was special.

He had me accompany him back to his office where he wrote out an official report of the "attack," as he was calling it, just in case Ken decided to press charges for assault… by the time I'd given him a quick hug and hurried over to Dr. Grissom's class, it was clear I would only be five minutes early, which was not really early at all.

Several students glanced at me in surprise when I entered, but Dr. Grissom seemed the most surprised. His eyes scanned my face and he offered me a small smile, which I nodded to, but didn't return. Mostly because I felt like he was judging me for not being early, as usual. It was ten minutes into class that I realized that he would assume, like Anderson, that my erratic behavior was a result of the encounter with Ken. …That he, in fact, had volunteered to talk to Ken on my behalf. He was protecting me too. …Why?

Despite finding blood spatter analysis interesting, I hadn't been lying when I told Anderson that you couldn't go in-depth in an intro level course. I knew everything he was teaching, and so I allowed myself to zone out and address the more important issue of how I was going to get Dr. Grissom into my bed. He was surprisingly receptive today, and I needed to understand why if I was going to replicate it. I thought a big part of it was that I was doing things he didn't expect—maybe he liked a challenge, or maybe he had had an idea of me in his head and I no longer fit it. Maybe it was more that than hot and cold… Maybe—"Sara?"

My head snapped up, and I realized that everyone was looking at me. I blinked rapidly. "I'm sorry… what?"

Dr. Grissom sighed, and I could see him warring with himself. He wanted to make an example of me, but he also wanted to be sympathetic. After a moment, he raised his chin just slightly, and I knew he'd decided against sympathy. "We were just discussing how to interpret a few spatter patterns that aren't as easily recognizable as the few we'd looked at…" He pointed to one side of his overhead, indicating the obvious ones—different velocities, arterial sprays, blood drops indication directionality—and then to the other side, which held a picture he'd obviously been asking me to interpret. After a moment, I turned my gaze to him.

"It's a trick question—the victim's fall would only be enough to produce low velocity, but would likely to cause her to expectorate blood… The fall on the stairs could easily have caused to head to bounce back up after the initial blow, lifting the spray above the level of the low velocity spatter from her head wound. …Which would lead one to believe it was medium-to-high velocity, and therefore not caused by the stairs. It would imply murder where there was every possibility of a simply household accident."

He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes unreadable, and then changed out his transparencies and called on someone else to interpret the next situation. I frowned, wondering what he must think of me now, but I was too proud to spend the rest of class trying to regain his approval like I'd done with Dr. Anderson. Especially after he'd made the clear choice to make an example of me—ME! How on earth was that fair? Besides, I was obviously still throwing him off… this was the perfect opportunity to test my hypothesis.

When he dismissed class, I was one of the first with my bag packed and on my way to the door, but he softly called my name—trying his best not to draw attention to the fact that he'd done so—and when I turned he indicated, in a subtle, subdued kind of way, that he'd like to me to stay. I inhaled slowly, weighing my next response… but finally determined after a moment that I could hardly tell him no. That would seem impetuous and childish and, to seduce a teacher who'd never slept with a student, emphasizing the negative things that were typically associated with youth would not work in my favor.

I moved back to my seat, front and center, and let my backpack move to the floor.

When the door had swung closed behind the last student, he fixed his gaze solidly on mine. We held that pose for several long moments, and then he sighed and moved from where he'd been standing, leaning against the desk at the front of the room, to sit in the desk beside me. I turned to face him and realized with some surprise that our faces were rather closer than they'd ever been, including today in Anderson's office. His cheeks seemed quite soft, his eyes more blissfully blue than I could imagine, and his curls had golden highlights, like he'd spent his summer in the sun. I had the urge to ask him where on earth he'd gotten sun in Minnesota, but I refrained. He had asked me to stay, so the burden of speaking first fell squarely in his lap.

He sighed again. "I was this close to filling out a missing person's report…" he told me with a slight quirk of his lips, holding up his thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. I managed to quirk a smile too.

"I, uh… got caught up with Dr. Anderson."

He nodded. "I figured. That's, uh… what I wanted to talk to you about."

I raised an eyebrow, already feeling myself getting defensive. He could say or think anything he liked about me, but if he said anything about Anderson…

"You, uh… You're not like that, in this class."

I blinked in surprise, and the emotion must have shown on my face because he smirked a little more brightly and his guard seemed to slip a little. He pulled the large glasses from his face and set them on the desk to his right side, because he was sitting sideways in the chair in order to face me. Without them obscuring half his face, he looked much younger, and I realized with some surprise that he was really much younger than the average teacher I found myself alone with.

"I… It's occurred to me that… I'm probably not challenging you enough. You said as much yourself, earlier today, to Tony, and…" He seemed to hesitate, but his eyes flickered to mine, and he forged ahead. "I, uh… haven't done a lot of teaching. And a student as brilliant as you really… I don't know exactly how to… facilitate… your advanced level of understanding. But I'd like to. I…"

He stopped again, and I came to another important realization about the man—while he might be a brilliant speaker when it came to his classes, on a personal level, he wasn't really used to discussing… anything. I wondered why that was, but I let him sort his thoughts. He ran a frustrated hand through curls, making them deliciously unruly, and I inhaled—no glasses, rumpled curls, the brown professor's jacket nowhere in sight… Good God.

"In Anderson's class, you were… engaged and excited and you… you didn't hesitate to take the discussion beyond what he'd intended to cover. And you stayed after, to get more from the lesson. And, I… I think you maybe have been that way in this class, at first, as well, but… In my attempt to treat each student equally, I fear I might not have nurtured your curiosity the way I ought to have."

I wasn't sure what to say, so I nodded. He let out yet another sigh, as if he was frustrated at my silence. I wasn't making this easy for him, and he was struggling.

"I, uh… I just wanted to let you know that… that I'm going to work on it. And if, in class, I don't address you or your questions enough, this is my last class of the day and I'd be more than happy to stay after to answer questions or go more in depth with you… I… I feel bad that you were so engaged in another class and that… you don't feel like you can be that way in mine. I hope you'll let me try to fix this… get better at it. I, uh… I'm still learning."

And there was my in.

He looked uncertain and a little vulnerable, and all I wanted to do was reach a hand out to touch his cheek—maybe lay my thumb to his lips—because all of him just looked so soft. Instead, I nodded and smiled as hesitantly as I was able with the glee bubbling up inside me. "I… I would really like that, Dr. Grissom."

He smiled too, a real smile, not just a side-of-the-mouth smirk, and I spotted his dimples. I wanted to kiss them. "Just Grissom, remember? …So, do you have any questions, today? You seemed to have a pretty good grasp but…"

I was late for work that night, but it was worth it.


	7. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: Sorry, again, for the delay, although it was much shorter this time! :) Yay! Hope you enjoy, love love love the reviews, thank you so much! Despite being crazy busy, life seems to be getting a bit better around here, so I'm going to keep trying for frequent updates. Oh, and I'm sorry if this seems to be moving slowly... I'm finding these characters in these roles difficult to move forward with any amount of haste without taking them further OOC than I want. Grissom definately seems like the kind of man who, if he were to be seduced, would need it to be done in small incriments, or else he would run away screaming...

Sigh. Anyway. Off to read for my hundreds of English classes. I leapt for joy last night that it was the weekend and I could *choose* what to read for a change. :)

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Chapter Six:

"You did _not_ lose a body!"

I felt my cheeks get hot under her incredulous gaze, but she was grinning, and so was I. Two days before, she'd stayed hours discussing the most difficult cases I'd worked that dealt with blood spatter analysis, making herself late for work in the process, and today we were discussing something I had thus far only briefly mentioned in my lectures—forensic entomology, my particular expertise. Of course, this had led to the explanation of the… event… several months previous, in which my supervisor had been a little unclear about who was taking point on the case, me or my colleague, and we both assumed it was the other. …The body had gone, unaccompanied, to the city Morgue… without paperwork. It had been a mess.

I took in her reddened cheeks and her bright eyes, the laughter still visible in them, and told myself that so much of her appeal was not in her person but in her youth. I was feeling old, spending all my time with colleagues in their fifties and watching young college students, day in and out, being… well, young. I had never been foolish or irresponsible, but I had been impulsive and fun, in college. There was a part of me that was feeling the loss of that more acutely than I would ever have imagined I might. And though Sara was brilliant and beautiful, it was really that which drew me to her, I was sure; she was the epitome of youth, and of course I was drawn to her while lamenting the loss of my own.

"I told you we found it… I didn't even get in trouble for it. Well, I mean, not much." I qualified, and her grin intensified, showing me a gap between her two front teeth that would normally have put me off, but somehow seemed more alluring in this moment.

She chuckled, shaking her head, and lifted her arms to put her dark brown curls up into a ponytail, her stretch lifting her shirt up to reveal just a sliver of midriff that had me hard in a second. But that was more a reaction to stimulus—a sexy little co-ed stretches in front of you when you've gone without for how long… it happens. It didn't mean anything that it had happened with her now on too many occasions to count, because it would have happened with any attractive young woman. It also didn't mean anything that it hadn't happened yet.

Except, perhaps, that I might be neglecting my other students.

She sighed softly, glancing at her watch, and I felt myself deflate, a little. "You have to get to work?" I asked, trying not to make it obvious how very much I wanted her to stay. The truth of the matter was, attraction aside, I was just hungry for the companionship. That was part of the reason why I'd told Anderson I'd help him organize the interdisciplinary science seminar—he was much older, but he was still a bachelor, like me, no wife or kids… and despite his age, he never felt the need to share about his age-related problems with bodily functions. I was desperate for a little socialization, not because I was all that social of an individual, but because I was used to having a good working relationship with colleagues and a small group of people whom I associated with outside of work. Here, I had neither, and I was… lonely.

She eyed me a little speculatively and, after a moment, shook her head. I wondered what had gone through her mind in the pause. "No… just, uh, didn't want to keep you all night… it's been hours since class and you're probably thinking about getting supper soon…"

As if on cue, my stomach growled softly and she giggled. I felt the urge to ask her to come grab dinner with me while we continued our conversation, and though I do admit that a part of it felt entirely like asking her on a date… there was also a genuine part of me that wistfully wanted not to eat alone again. But that was more than inappropriate, wasn't it? Yes, it… it really was. I sighed. "I guess you're right. …You have the night off? I'm probably keeping you from friends or… a party or something."

She giggled again, though I wasn't sure if that was a disagreement or not. …It seemed more like not. "You're not keeping me—I know it seems weird, but I'm really enjoying myself…"

Her eyes met mine for a moment before turning away to pack up her book bag, and I felt my ears get hot again. With a little uncertainty, I started packing myself up too—glasses back on my face, jacket onto shoulders with my tie tucked into my pocket, papers into my briefcase. I felt like there was now a strange space between us—a tension that wasn't there a moment before—and I wasn't sure how to breach the gap. I ran my hand through my hair and thought about asking her about her plans again, just because I wasn't sure who she was when she wasn't being my star pupil. It was something I felt was very important, but couldn't adequately imagine without some input… some inspiration. Did she like art? Music? Would I find her browsing museum or running in the park or dancing and drinking at a concert?

More likely a bar—I had gathered, from a few comments here and there, that she worked a lot. I didn't yet have the name of the bar, however, or I might have gone so far as to find it and pretend it was accidental while she was working…

I told you I was lonely.

So I went home alone, made myself a TV dinner because cooking for one is both depressing and difficult, because there are the issues of storing leftovers in a small refrigerator with little to no Tupperware on hand and none of the little things on hand that you constantly use without thinking, like salt and pepper. It required an entire extra trip to the grocery store, prior. I watched a little television and prepared for my upcoming lectures, and called Allison at 10:30, which was 6:30 her time. It was one of the few times that consistently worked for both of us. She was awake, but she didn't need to be anywhere for at least a half hour.

"Hello?" She answered, her voice thick with sleep, but not enough to make me think that I'd woken her. She had probably been up five minutes—enough time to start some coffee and blearily begin thinking about her day to come.

"Hey. How are you?"

"Gil," she says warmly, apparently pleased that it's not her mother, the other person who tends to call her early in the morning—her friends usually call her when it's mid-morning for them and evening for her. Her friends have jobs with rather flexible schedules. "I'm good. You? …Tell me about your day."

I opened my mouth, ready to tell her about Sara, and then… hesitated. "I, uh… I'm helping the head of the physics department organize a seminar." I wasn't sure why I didn't want to tell her about my best student, or even if I actually didn't want to tell her—a moment before I had been excited to tell her.

She yawned, not out of boredom, but because she'd just woken up. "I thought you were under the departments of bio and anth…" She murmurs, softly, because the tiny forensics department is not truly a department of its own, but a subset of the anthropology department. I smile, liking the way she sounds in the morning. It puts me in the mind of the several, though far from numerous, times I'd woken up with her.

"It's interdisciplinary—meant to interest people in science in general, but also to encourage science students to bridge the gap between the sciences… have chem. majors taking physics classes and geology majors taking bio classes… foster a generation of scientists with a broader understanding of how the subject overlap…"

"That's good. It sounds like something you could get really passionate about." She observes, accurately, and I smile, deciding to delve into the other reason my day had put me in a good mood, despite spending the evening and night alone.

"I think I also resolved my first student issue." I say, a little proudly, and she chuckles, sounding like she's waking up, slowly but surely.

"Tell me about it." I can hear her sip some coffee and the shuffling of wire hangers pinging together as she pulls clothes out for the day.

"I had a student who was pretty brilliant, at first, but would occasionally seem like she wasn't paying attention or like she was irritated with the class—Intro to Forensics—and then today, Dr. Anderson—the physics department head who I'm planning the seminar with—invited me to sit in on his class when I confided that I wasn't sure whether I was making my lectures interactive and dynamic enough. This same student was in his class and… she was like a different person." I wasn't sure why I left out the incident with the T.A. other than that I didn't necessarily feel like it was related to me resolving the issue of being a more facilitating educator.

"How so?" Allison asks, and she seems fully awake now, giving me her full attention.

"She… she challenged him, rather than him challenging her, as a teacher. She pushed the boundaries of her own understanding, constantly, wanting to know more—she asked questions, questioned him and the assumptions upon which he based his lecture, and she… she was like every teacher's dream pupil."

There was a smile in Allison's voice when she answered, "So… you wondered why she wasn't that way in your class?"

"Right!" I said, enthusiastic. "So I started to challenge her… tried to be more… encouraging, of that curiosity, and she's just… blossomed, in the few days since it happened. I feel like I'm really… I mean, not just making progress with her, but making progress of my own—I'm a better teacher, because of her."

It. I'm a better teacher because of this revelation and the change I made because of _it_—not because of _her_.

Allison caught this too. "…Bet she's beautiful." She said, off-handedly, and I frowned. She was not as sly as she thought she was, and yet I felt no surge of pride or masculine arrogance at her jealousy.

"She's a student." I said, a bit harshly, and this seemed to do the trick. I had expected to hear a familiar, skeptical 'Hmm…' from her, which she usually uttered when she disagreed with someone but did not wish to engage in a heated discussion. No, instead, she sounded chastened.

"…You're right. I'm sorry, Gil. I… It's hard, missing you all the time…"

I felt myself soften and sighed. "It's hard for me too. I think about you all the time…" Which was true. Mostly. I hadn't thought about her as much Monday or today, but I had spent all of yesterday—Tuesday—missing her.

"I, uh… have a little bit of time, before I need to jump in the shower…" Her voice was suggestive, and despite my slight irritation with her for taking my single triumph so far in this teaching venture and twisting it, I felt myself responding accordingly. …I told you it had been a long time, and she _had_ apologized. I could understand her jealousy—if she'd been talking about a young college student studying with her, I might have responded in kind.

"Oh yeah…? Well then why don't you tell me what you've been missing the most…"

"Your eyes…" she uttered, on a sigh, and my breathing accelerated.

I fell asleep easily, that night, when we got off the phone for her to shower. I was feeling far less frustrated than I had been for the last couple of weeks and still thoroughly proud of myself for addressing a problem straight on and working to remedy it. You know, maybe there really was a place for me in teaching… Maybe I would stay at Harvard, for a while, if they wanted me. I mean, they'd solicited me for a year, but surely if they had sought me out, they wouldn't be opposed to keeping me on a big longer? I wouldn't want to stay away from The Cities and the Lab for too long, but I was also beginning to feel that I could be very, very happy, being a teacher.

Thursday dragged on and on, and it wasn't until Friday morning, when I woke with a bright smile on my face, that I realized what I was excited for… what I'd been anticipating. I even found myself sliding into the very back of Dr. Anderson's lecture during a time in which I ought to have been in my office, preparing for a test I was giving next week in my Forensic Entomology class, telling myself that I had learned so much from him on Monday, but knowing that I just wanted a chance to watch her without her knowing I was doing so.

Despite having been introduced to his class on Monday, none of the students in the back row with me even glanced in my direction when I sat down. One girl was deeply involved in a novel, and her friend was reading the newspaper, and a boy to my right was having an in-depth conversation with his friend. Which was fine—class hadn't started yet—but I got the feeling that none of this would cease when it did. When I'd been in school, I'd never seated myself so far back, and it was definitely a different experience than sitting in the front.

Tony stepped in a minute later and I bent my head, hoping he wouldn't notice me, but besides the cursory scan of the room as he began—once again asking a broad question that Sara leapt to answer—his eyes didn't reach this far back. From that point on, I focused on the brunette in the front row with bouncing curls who struck me as just… exquisite. She was less reserved, I noticed, now that she didn't know I was watching her ask her questions. Though, I told myself a moment later, I could hardly assume that the slight change was due to my presence—Monday, she'd just been attacked. That was far more likely to have caused a difference in behavior than I was.

I was assuming that I affected her as much as she affected me, which was a mistake. For me, she was young and beautiful and brilliant—she stood out among students—and for her… I was one of many teachers. If I stood out in her mind, it was because I had, up until a day or so ago, failed to challenge her. Class ended and I slipped out in the crowd, out the back door, avoiding her and Tony decidedly, feeling like some inner conflict had just come to a head, despite the silence and isolation of said moment.

I had just admitted that she was different. She was not the average co-ed, and I was not thinking about her this much simply because she was just the most noticeable and vocal of many. That admission changed nothing, of course… it was still wildly inappropriate, still entirely one-sided, and still something I would never, ever act upon. But the fact that I wasn't lying to myself or rationalizing it away… was significant.

I resolved my inner conflict with difficultly, over the hour and half between Tony's class and mine—though I really only had an hour, as Sara was always early. I couldn't stop letting her stay to ask questions, because that had been one of my successes, thus far, as a teacher, but I needed to remove myself, a little… be more professional and detached. My conviction in this resolution remained firm until the moment she moved through the classroom's door and I glanced up expectantly.

I hadn't noticed what she was wearing, when I'd sat in on Tony's class, and the tiny, black leather skirt took me by surprise, the air leaving my lungs like I'd sustained a blow to the stomach. She was wearing a long-sleeved blue shirt with a round collar—not remotely promiscuous. She was not trying to provoke a reaction. But she was getting one.

This girl was going to be the death of me, and I knew it, and yet I couldn't see how to stop myself.

I wasn't even sure I wanted to.

Fuck.


	8. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Thanks for the wonderful reviews. :) I will try to update during the week, as we'll be out of town next weekend, but no promises. Hopefully this update will tide you over for a while. Enjoy!

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Chapter Seven:

I woke up with Anni in my bed.

It surprised me, sure, but it wasn't alarming—I often woke up with her, but then, I'd usually fallen asleep with her there. Today, she had crawled in of her own accord, and despite it being early—really early—she was awake. I blinked blearily, wondering if I'd woken up because I'd felt her slip in beside me, or if it was simply my body clock waking me before my alarm, as usual. I peered at the windows, and they told me very little. I kept my room dark, because if I didn't, I would get even less sleep than I did now.

She lifted a slender finger and traced down my nose. "I'm hiding from Todd."

I blinked. "…Why?"

My voice sounded like shit and I threw an arm out to my right, fingers clutching and finding nothing at first before finally closing around my glass of water. It was warm, but it was better than nothing. While I tilted my head up at a strange angle to take a sip, Anni sighed and threw her dark head into my pillows. "He's a sleep-cuddler. It's like sleeping with a koala bear."

Even in my sleepy haze, I was pretty sure that didn't make sense. I felt an eyebrow go up. "…What?"

She clucked her tongue and rolled to face me. "You know. In pictures, they're always like… clinging on to each other. It's like, Okay, I get it, you love each other. …Baby koala or not, Mama bear needs her _space._"

I stared at her for a long, long moment, letting this filter in. And then snorted, and together we dissolved into hysterical giggling, trying to keep quiet so as not to wake Todd.

When I could breathe again, I eyed her. I was willing to bet that wasn't the real reason she was in here, but of course I would never call her on it. Part of it, I was sure, was that she liked Todd too much… she was trying to distance herself, a little, and if it was in a vaguely homoerotic fashion, crawling into my bed in lacy panties and a tank top, well, that was all the better—it made her feel edgy and adventurous and emphasized the distance thing. And, I thought, a part of it might just be that she missed me.

"…We never get to talk anymore. What's going on with my Sara?"

The slightly vulnerable look in her eyes confirmed that suspicion and I smiled, reaching over to brush a stray, dark lock from her cheeks. I would never tell her that I missed her blonde hair—that I really liked it on her much better—because I knew that the way the black made her feel. I knew, in the instinctual way of someone who has been trying for the same effect their whole lives, just in different ways, that it helped her bury her family… distinguish herself from them in a way that visual and obvious and striking. It made her feel badass and powerful and liberated. And, well, that feeling was more important than the reality.

I knew, because I had had many psychologists tell me that it was why I liked to dress promiscuously. It made me feel strong and powerful and in control of my own sexuality—in control of my whole person—and it allowed me to feel admired and desired and worthy of men's attention. In fact, it made me feel downright deserving. And so, despite knowing that what they said was true—that I was going about it the wrong way and that my appearance was a cry for help and that I really came off looking easy, as opposed to sexually liberated—everything still came back to the fact that, for the first time in my life, I felt good about myself, and I felt like my body was my own.

Fuck the psychologists; I was keeping this feeling if it killed me.

"Nothing, really. Work and school, you know. You see me every day…"

"Yeah, but Todd's always there…" She said with slight annoyance that told me that he wouldn't be lasting long—which was sad, because I was pretty sure she liked him a lot. But, you know, that was probably why he wouldn't last very long…

I smirked. "My next night off, we'll have a girls night. We won't hang out at The Lantern, with everyone else. We'll go to a club or something."

"A club neither of us can get into…?" She asked, pointing out that we were both underage. It hadn't really occurred to me—it had been a long time since I'd worried about not being able to get alcohol simply because I was a minor—but I shook my head.

"There's that new place, where you only have to be 18 to get in… Or, what's that one that Tim is a bouncer at? …Nightlife!"

She beamed. "Okay… we'll do it. No guys!"

I chuckled, curling back into my pillows sleepily. "…What time is it?"

"Mmm… One thirty? Maybe two?" Oh fuck. I'd hardly been asleep an hour, if that. I groaned and rolled so my back was to her. "I have class in the morning…"

"Dr. Grissom's class…?"

I rolled back to her in alarm. It wasn't that I was worried about Anni knowing—she usually knew—it was just that I hadn't told her. If she'd found out from someone else, before anything had even happened… that was bad. It was really bad. "What?"

She chuckled. "You're too easy, honey. Todd's roommate, Shawn, is in your class. Todd mentioned you in passing, talking about how we hung out at the bar where my roommate worked… and when he said your name, Shawn said you seemed like a real brownnoser, staying after class every day and asking all those questions. Todd was surprised—he said you seemed more like a party girl than a teacher's pet."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Still, it was worrying how small this campus apparently was. "Oh… okay."

She snickered. "So, he banging you yet?"

I rolled my eyes, not finding her words offensive but the scare of a moment before preventing me from reacting with giggles the way I might have in another moment. "No. He's… difficult."

"What do you mean?"

I pursed my lips. Anni was not interested in teachers. They weren't destructive enough, externally, for her. I told you, she wanted to feel bad ass, because her entire childhood had been a fucking tea party. Or, you know, a cotillion. I wasn't entirely certain what that was, but I had the impression that it was like the prom for rich people, except they happened all the time, and you didn't dance to modern music, but string quartets, and you didn't drink punch that someone—jocks, druggies, etc.—had spiked with Jack Daniels, but sipped champagne instead. Anni talked about them a lot, when she talked about high school, but it was always with distaste.

"I, uh… He's…" I sighed, scrubbing my tired face with both hands. "I don't think he's ever been with a student before. So, when he looks at me… sometimes I'm pretty sure he wants me, and other times…" I glanced at her, noting her creased brow. "Well, anyway, things are going slowly because I don't think it's even occurred to him at this point that something _could_ happen between us. I'm so off-limits that he doesn't even consider it."

"But you want him to." She says, and nod a little sheepishly.

"I don't think I've ever wanted someone this badly…" Her raised eyebrow asks the question, and I fall back against my pillows, staring at my ceiling, thinking how to describe it. "I… I think it's because I've never really done the pursuing. I mean, you know, with the others… they wanted me. If we hooked up, great, if not… well, that was their problem. They were the ones who had failed to seduce me."

She snorted softly. "We all know how well you deal with failure…" she teased, but it wasn't funny. I didn't deal with failure at all—it was unacceptable. I was done feeling inadequate all the time, and since I'd come to school, it had been a rare emotion. I wasn't prepared to let one quirky, naïve scientist from the middle of nowhere compromise that. I pictured him bent over a body, covered in bugs, in the middle of a massive forest—the only real reference I had of Minnesota was the Little House books—and I felt a tinge of condescension coloring my imagining. How dare he make me feel like I wasn't good enough for him? Like I should have to work for his attention.

Sara Sidle didn't fail. At anything.

"Right." I said stiffly. "Well, anyway, it's really just a matter of time…"

She yawned and scooted closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder. "Wear that little leather skirt, and I guarantee you'll have him on his knees…"

So, when I woke a few hours later, Anni still fast asleep under my covers, I took her advice to heart. I took a shower, shaved my legs with meticulous care, styled my hair into controlled ringlets, and borrowed some of Anni's makeup to create the perfect look. I chose a modest shirt, knowing that Dr. Grissom hadn't responded nearly as well when I didn't tone down my dress, and then slipped into the skin-tight skirt that only just covered all the necessary areas, with maybe an inch to spare. If I dropped a pencil today, I'd have to leave it, but otherwise…

Dr. Felton made his appreciation of my extra effort known, and even tried to get me to stay after class on the pretense of saying he'd lost my last paper and did I happen to have another copy—I did, but I told him I was pretty sure I didn't—and his lack of concern told me that this was a blatant lie to facilitate conversation. It might have been flattering if I hadn't been avoiding him since that first day of class, but I had been, and I knew he'd noticed. I was just irritated, and walked off with a toss of my perfect curls when he said he was sure he'd be able to find my paper.

Liar, liar, pants on fire. In more ways than one. Eww.

I had bought the skirt to go out in, and it didn't feel exactly right in school… I was constantly crossing and uncrossing my legs, self-consciously, and over my long lunch break, had the urge to head home and change before he could see me in it. Surely he would just think I looked like a whore…

But the lingering anger I'd felt the night before, at the idea of failure—at the idea of him making me a failure—flared up, and I remembered Anni's words. _You'll have him on his knees…_

I forced myself into class at the same time as always, twenty minutes early, and when he looked up at me expectantly and his jaw literally dropped… when the reserved, respectful, professional scientist eyed me up and down like I was a piece of meat he simply couldn't help but drool over… I no longer felt self-conscious, nor did I worry about failure. I sent Anni a silent thank-you.

I still had to move things slowly, with him, but I knew that I had him. …My father had rarely spent time with me, when I was little, but he did take me fishing with him and my brother, a few times, when my mom was spending the day "deep-cleaning" the bed and breakfast at the end and beginning of the busy season. One thing I remembered specifically was a long explanation the pair of them had given me about setting the hook once the bait had been nibbled. That was more important than reeling—getting the hook stuck in the fish's mouth, keeping him on your line. If you set the hook, then you could reel that fish in at your leisure, no matter how much he fought against you, providing your line was thick enough.

I had no doubt that my line was thick enough… and this skirt, this moment in time, was me setting my hook.

Let the reeling begin.


	9. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Sorry, again, for the long delay. I didn't think I would get this out until Saturday, and then I had a class cancelled this afternoon, and I raced home to work on it. :) Sure, I sacrificed a little homework time tonight to finish it, but you guys are worth it. 3

Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! Thanks for sticking with me, despite how busy I've been!

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Chapter Eight:

If she didn't stop crossing and uncrossing her legs, there was going to be a problem. She had done it all through class, and I didn't know if she was uncomfortable or cold or whether she took some kind of sick pleasure in teasing me… but it was only by sheer force of will that I controlled myself. That, and the podium I kept between myself and the class, of course.

I used the bustle of everyone leaving to move rapidly into a seat behind the desk, seeking some cover, knowing that if Sara decided to stay after to ask questions, as she had been doing, this would be my only chance to move into a more discreet location without drawing attention to the problem she had created. It was a good thing I did—hardly thirty seconds after I'd seated myself, she was standing up on the other side of the desk, waiting for my attention. I smiled, trying for the life of me to remember what exactly I'd taught that day.

She grinned. "You know, I know you like to say that all areas of forensics can be interesting… but if were a forensic accountant, I might kill myself."

I quirked a smile. Ah, that was it—tracing money trails and an introduction to how you could tell, even without much accounting skill, when books looked off. It was not a particularly rousing subject, and I realized (belatedly, but I blamed that on the damn legs that wouldn't keep still all period) that Sara had hardly asked any questions. Even she must have been less than interested. "Well, then I suggest you find a different field of forensics to which you can apply all those questions…" I teased, lightly, picking up an old argument—that she should be a forensics major rather than physics—and she sat on the edge of the desk.

I mean, okay, it wasn't like she was around on my side. If another teacher walked in now, it would simply look like a very casual teacher-student conversation was taking place. …Except for the fact that it hiked that skirt even higher, and gave me a glimpse of… was that a _tattoo_? I felt my eyes narrowing, trying to make out the design on her inner thigh, before snapping my eyes back up to her face in shame, my cheeks burning, certain she was about to slap me.

She appeared like she hadn't particularly noticed—she was looking up at the ceiling, as if she were thinking deeply. I allowed myself one more stolen glance, but couldn't make it out. Still, that little detail had moved me from a noticeable erection at half-mast to a raging hard-on straining against my slacks and making thinking incoherent. If she didn't slide her perfect little ass off my desk this minute, I would lose hold of the last strand of self-control I possessed.

…And what? I asked myself, rolling my eyes. Even if I lacked all self-control, did I really believe I would bend her back over this desk and kiss her? No, of course not. Those were ridiculous thoughts, and I shouldn't even be entertaining them.

She finally turned her gaze back to me. "So I was thinking about this accounting thing… I mean, I know tax lawyers and people investigating big companies would use it… but how often do you trace money in actual forensics? I mean, are money trails all that common? That seems like something you'd really only see in the movies…"

I chuckled. Leave it to my Sara—No, no. Just Sara—to be completely oblivious to my discomfort and my wandering eyes, and instead bring everything back to forensics. I admired her dedication and her brilliance, but there was a small part of me—the part that was still trying to figure out what that tattoo was—that wished she would talk about her personal life, a little. Maybe I should try to draw it out, subtly. I mean, I knew she worked in a bar and that she mostly saw her friends while she was at work, her roommate included. But I didn't know anything about the roommate, or the friends, or the bar… or what she did on her occasional nights off. With that in mind, I picked a particular example.

"I had a case just a few months ago where we tracked down a semi-professional hit man with accounting. He ran a strip club, and he was working his fees into his books like they were just profit—It isn't really my area of expertise, but it was impressive how the specialist did it. Then, of course, a few minutes in an interrogation room with one of the girls—cocktail waitress, I think, not a dancer—and she was spilling her guts about things she'd heard and seen. We put the guy away for three consecutive life sentences."

She smiled down at me, taking the bait and making the connection between herself and the waitress. "Bosses never realize how much their workers know. I mean, not that Eddie's hiring himself out as a hit man or anything, but there was this one time he took this girl back into his office…" She blushed then, apparently uncertain about discussing her employer's liaison, but my amused grin must have reassured her. She laughed, shaking her head, and continued. "Well, let's just say that he thought he was very discreet, but none of us wanted to go back to ask him for change for the register…"

I grinned more broadly and shook my head. "So did you run and tell all your friends your boss was getting laid?"

Her eyes flashed surprise, but my words had the desired effect—she started talking about herself—her life—without the censorship she usually kept around me as her teacher. "Oh, god no. I mean, if I could have been certain they would have kept it quiet, I might have but… Well, Anni's got such a big mouth. Anni—that's my roommate—she likes to tease Eddie anyway, because he's really protective of me, you know? Doesn't like it when customers get handsy. So Anni likes to tease him that he wants me and, until a year ago, that I was his jailbait. So if I'd let something like that slip, it would have just made it sooo much worse on me when he came out..."

And then, completing this sentence and taking in my slightly startled expression, she blushed again, looking down.

"…You just turned eighteen last year?" I asked, speaking because I didn't want her to backtrack and think that she shouldn't have shared so much with me—I just wanted to know more about her—but also because I was surprised. She had said she was a junior—I was assuming that she was twenty or twenty-one. But no, she was much younger than that. She was practically _my_ …jailbait.

She shrugged a little, seeming like she didn't really want to talk about it. "Yeah, I, uh—I graduated early. Anyway, I… I'm sorry. It was probably strange for me to… I didn't mean to tell you so much. I… I should go." She slid off the desk.

"No, no. I… Sara, I… liked hearing about it." I said, without thinking. Without taking the moment to realize what a line I was crossing. "…You don't have to feel like you have to censor yourself." I added, feeling like that added a little professionalism where a moment before there had been none. She turned back to me, biting her bottom lip and making me throb.

"…Really? I mean, I talk to Dr. Anderson about my life but… most professors don't really… they don't feel like you can be friends with your students. So I try not to make it weird…"

My heart fluttered, but I absolutely could not tell you why it should do such a thing. "No, it… it isn't weird. I…" What? I want to be your friend? I want to know what tattoo you have on your inner thigh and why on earth you're so close to Tony Anderson but so reserved when it comes to me? "I think we could be friends..."

"If it makes things uncomfortable for you…" She started, still countering, but I shook my head with more certainty than I felt.

"Not at all. In fact, let's go grab some coffee. …Unless, did you have any more questions? About forensic accounting, I mean?"

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "No. I think I could go a very long time without talking about that, ever, ever again." She laughed at my frown, and then we were standing, her swinging her backpack over her thin shoulders and me picking up my briefcase and suit jacket uncertainly. Sure, I might tell her that it was just fine to be friends… but that didn't mean that it was. What was I doing?

Nothing, my inner voice insisted. You're getting coffee.

I nodded. That was true. Coffee was a far cry from sex, after all.

And my heart was already racing at the thought of coffee, my jacket and briefcase held a little awkwardly in front of me, hiding my response to her. We moved into the hallway and I stopped at my office just long enough to lock it… but when I started walking again, she didn't. I turned to her in confusion, and she sighed.

"Dr. Grissom—"

"Grissom." I corrected, automatically, trying to guess the reason for her fallen features.

"Grissom," She agreed, lifting deep, dark brown eyes up to meet my gaze. "…I'm sorry. I'm gonna have to take a rain check."

I frowned, but nodded. "Oh… Okay. That's, um, that's fine. I…" I wanted to ask why, but I didn't. Maybe it was pride, or a sense of trying after the fact to retain some professionalism. It didn't matter. A moment later, she was telling me.

"I forgot that I told Eddie I'd come in early to work tonight, so that I could get the night off for that Science Seminar you and Dr. Anderson are doing in a couple weeks… I… I'm really sorry."

I shook my head, feeling relief and disappointment and excitement rushing over me in conflicting waves. "No. Not a problem at all. I, uh… I'll see you in class."

And with that, we separated from each other.

* * *

It had been so hard to lie. So hard to take what seemed like a golden opening and let it fly away—my only consolation was that he had, at least, agreed to the rain check. My readings on the man in question had told me that he was a man who would not choose to be seduced—he would enjoy the chase, if he would let himself chase. So I was walking a fine line here… trying to convince him that he wasn't pursuing me yet making him feel that he was… while, in truth, I was. Something he couldn't know either. I was pretty sure I'd done the right thing, however.

I mean, he hadn't asked for the coffee in the following few classes between that day and the seminar… but there was something a little different about the way he followed me with his eyes. I mean, it still wasn't the outrightly lascivious looks I'd come to associate with Dr. Felton, and I doubted very much that anyone else noticed them. They were not the looks of a man who is attracted to a woman. They were the looks of a man repressing something he would very much like to do or say. A man struggling with his own conscience.

So I figured I had to be doing something right.

…In which case, I figured I would step things up a notch. I'd had to give up a Saturday night off in order to get the night of the seminar, but it gave me time after class to shower and change. Dr. Grissom had never seen me freshly cleaned and styled and made up—only after hours of class. So I was excited, and I put a lot of thought into my outfit. Anni had seemed a little off tonight, and had left without telling me where she was going, which was strange—normally she would mention it in passing, or at least come help me decide on my wardrobe, supplementing it with her own, as needed.

I finally settled on a pair of light gray slacks, the only dressy pants I owned (I had bought them when I was sixteen for my interview here at Harvard), with black kitten heels, so I wouldn't be taller than Dr. Grissom, and a shiny, emerald green sleeveless shirt. It wasn't low cut, but in a push-up bra I had a bit of cleavage, and it walked the line between sophisticated and sexy. Or, at least, that had been what Anni's mother said when we all went shopping. The woman had been attempting to win me over to her side so that I might influence Anni in a direction she thought was more suitable… and also, I'm pretty sure she was hoping I would act as a spy more often than not.

I wasn't good with the undercurrents of social interaction, and I really hadn't been when I was just seventeen and on a shopping trip in stores I'd never heard of, accompanied by a woman whose jeans probably cost more than my entire wardrobe—but I had known enough to insist on buying the shirt myself. I wasn't going to owe her anything, and I certainly wasn't going to lead her to believe I was playing her game. As destructive as Anni was—who was I to talk?—her parents' vision for her was not any less harmful… just more presentable. Well, I didn't blame Anni for being fed up with that shit.

The only thing I borrowed was Anni's black pea coat, because it was an unseasonably cold night for September, cloudy and gray and sprinkling off and on, and my warm coat was not very dressy. It wasn't that I had to dress up, per se, but a professional conference implied that it wouldn't be a bad idea—and it would be the easiest way to get Dr. Grissom to see me dressed up without seeming out of place in class. As a final touch, I scooped up a thin, white scarf, thinking that it would be a nice touch, and then hurried out. I had been waiting for this night for weeks.

Dr. Anderson and Dr. Grissom greeted me separately almost as soon as I entered the second floor of the union, where the seminar was being held in one of the large. Dr. Anderson was speaking with another teacher I had seen in the chemistry building a time or two, but he waved as soon as he caught my eye. Dr. Grissom, however, was at my side immediately. "Let me help you with your coat…" He murmured, just a little too close to me, and I shivered, glancing at him. He still looked like he was warring with himself, and something told me that the haste with which he'd approached me had been a battle he'd lost. But he wasn't ready to give up the whole just because some ground had been lost. I smiled and turned my back to him, unbuttoning and letting the coat slide down my arms.

I almost felt sorry for him, watching him struggle not to look me up and down as he guided me to the front, to sit in one of the few seats in the front row that wasn't reserved for a speaker. His jacket—the awful one, with patches over the elbows—was slung over the seat beside mine. He carefully spread the coat over the back of the chair I was to take, and then finally allowed himself to meet my eyes, seeming to realize a little belatedly that, beyond asking for my coat, we hadn't spoken. She swallowed and offered a shy smile.

"Tony and I thought… well, that… you of all people should be up close. You're really going to enjoy this." And I could hear how true this was even without the glance up at Anderson and the wink he gave me—but there was also a slightly nervous edge to Dr. Grissom right now. An edge I hadn't seen before. He was… nervous, maybe? I smiled and sat, grateful when he was called away a moment later to address someone's question… because I needed a game plan. Other than just being irresistible.

I watched him speak, his eyes glancing at me now and then, and made up my mind. If he asked me to get coffee tonight, I would go. …Hell, I might ask for the rain check myself, especially if Dr. Anderson would be coming with us. That would ease the transition… make it seem like more acceptable behavior. In fact, that might be the best plan I'd had… his presence would offer a sense of propriety, but it would make it that much easier to get Dr. Grissom alone, outside of a school setting, in the future. With a slight sense of deviousness, I also decided that I could touch him, a little, tonight. Nothing overt or attention-grabbing, per se, but… enough.

Enough for him to remember, and enough to tempt him.

When he finally moved to sit with me, then, I didn't feel nervous or uncertain… I was a queen in my castle, smiling fondly at a petite hand covered in garish jewels, and mercifully allowing this man to sit within sight of me. That alone, was a gift, was it not? My arm brushed his as I adjusted how I was sitting, and I was thoroughly pleased to feel him tense in response beside me. However much I had doubted myself, in the beginning, I knew now that it really was just a matter of time.


	10. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: :) Probably the last update for a while. Busy week, and then my best friend and I are going wedding dress shopping next weekend, so I can't make any promises for updates. Buuut, I'm pretty proud of myself for getting two out so close to each other, so maybe it'll happen again.

Hope you enjoy! Thanks for the reviews!

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Chapter Nine:

"Shit!" She aimed a fiery kick at her car, and then winced and hopped after the loud _thunk!_ indicated that she had made solid contact. A part of me wanted to laugh, but I restrained myself, choosing not to catch her shoulders and attempt to comfort her. Clearly, Sara had a temper I was unaware of up to this point, and I wasn't entirely certain that she wouldn't turn it on me if I came too close just now.

The night had not started badly, nor had anything awful occurred in the mean time, so it did seem like an over-the-top reaction. We'd both been looking forward to tonight for a while—or, at least, I had been—and the evening had begun rather nicely, I thought. Tony and I had spent a good deal of time directing the set up of the ballroom in the Union where there seminar would be taking place—it was small and, truthfully, a little experimental at this point. If we received positive feedback, Tony had it in his head to make it more of a conference that would take up a week, hosting several scientists from various disciplines to give a number of different lectures as well as being on discussion panels… but for now, it was a few hours on a Thursday night, and the speakers were from the faculty here. Still impressive, of course, but not a new experience for the students who would be attending.

Still, once everything was settled and the schedules of the day resting by the entrances to the large room, there was a lull that gave me time to realize that I was checking the door constantly, expecting Sara early—and expecting her with no small amount of anticipation. It wasn't a date, of course, and I knew that. I did. She was a student, I was a teacher, and we were both here to explore the sciences and learn something. It was academic. But at the same time, I wasn't about to deny that I felt like there was a certain importance to the night. I mean, I saw her outside of class, but only immediately following it. With the exception of running into her in the Chemistry building and having her accompany Tony and I to his office, this would be a first.

And it was night time, not the middle of the day, in a colleague's office, in between classes. …And that had been before I really knew her.

Not that I knew her all that well right now. We could talk for hours about forensics, but in the five class periods and their subsequent hours-long discussions since she'd told me about her boss having sex in his office, I had managed to learn very little about her. She was a little more relaxed, of course, but I had yet to hear about her family at all. She talked about Eddie a lot, which bothered me. He was certainly too old for her—older than me, and _I_ was too old for her—and what she called protectiveness sounded an awful lot like possessiveness. She talked a little about Anni, but it was generally in passing. She would be talking about herself, and Anni's name would pop up, because it seemed like Sara did very little, outside of school, without the girl. I half-expected her to come to the seminar with said friend in tow.

But no, she came alone, looking… very nice. Not that Sara didn't look nice every day, but the clothing was generally young-looking. Very, very much so. Tonight, she looked like a professional. Like a colleague. Like a woman I could meet at an academic seminar and ask for drinks afterward, with the hopes of dinner and a kiss at her door at the end of the night. …It wasn't that I forgot who she really was, exactly, but… it was easy not to think about, seeing Sara so polished. Her black pea coat was expensive and fit her snugly, the hint of a white scarf at her neck bright, making the dark curls on her hair seem so vibrant. My feet moved of their own regard, swiftly over to her, propelled forward by the leap in my stomach as soon as I saw her step through the door.

I knew I was too close to her when I asked to take her coat because I could smell her. More than just the sweetness of her hair that I was used to, but the actual smell of her skin—warm and soft but with an edge to it that I struggled to understand. It was familiar, nagging at me, but unidentifiable. She shivered, and I hoped it was from the coat slipping from her bare, tanned shoulders, rather than because she'd realized my proximity. We sat beside each other through the event, her arms brushing mine more often than felt fair. I would have known those long limbs were bare, even through the fabric of my shirt, and it did awful, wonderful things to my senses. She was in a low pair of heels and her toenails were a deep burgundy that made my heart beat harder—not necessarily faster, but definitely harder. I felt certain she would hear it, but she didn't seem to. She didn't glance in my direction except in-between speakers, and I had the feeling that she was more focused on them than on me.

Which, of course, was as it should be. What had I expected? She was here for the event, not for me, and she was an extremely attentive student. I had known as much. Still, the bright gap-toothed smile she turned to me when Tony announced me—in glowing terms that I certainly didn't deserve—had my hands shaking on my notes, and gave me a secret thrill… I realized that I felt hopeful, but I wasn't sure what I was hoping for, exactly. I mean… at the very least, I knew that I had no right to hope for it, and I knew that the hope would go unfulfilled, unless by some twist of fate, I ran into Sara in five or six years, somewhere else entirely, and the dynamic was dramatically changed. ...And expecting something like that was beyond ridiculous.

I didn't like to admit it to myself, but it gave me quite the ego trip to watch her watch me speak. Three days a week, she watched me with something akin to awe, but this was something more than that—it felt like a bigger, more profound kind of awe when she displayed it so openly in this room full of people. And when I had finished, and Tony had stepped up to announce someone named Dr. Arios, I slipped back into my seat a little flushed, and felt my face burning when she reached a hand out to me, unafraid, and clasped my forearm in silent acclamation. I spent the rest of the seminar reliving that single, simple, fleeting contact.

Except, of course, during Tony's closing, in which I noticed a change in her posture that I had noticed several times before this—other speakers didn't receive the level of awe she gave me, when I spoke… and I couldn't compare to the way she watched him. Not in a million years, and I disliked the way it made me frown and speculate on the absurd and suddenly doubt myself when moments before I had felt so confident.

She stood off to the side while Tony and I spoke to any number of people, at the end—professors, both in and out of the sciences, community members, students—and then waited patiently while we made certain that maintenance didn't need anything from us for the cleanup… and finally, together, we approached her. She had the black coat tucked under her arms and she was leaning back against the wall, her legs extended straight in front of her. She still looked beautiful, but I was surprised to note she seemed a bit tired. As soon as she caught sight of us, she stood up straight and the look was gone from her face—she was fresh and smiling once again—but it stuck with me. It seemed almost childlike… I half expected her to rub her eyes with full fists.

Tony took her coat gently from her and helped her into it, something I had been hoping to do, but I fought down said disappointment as we walked out and Sara sighed. "So… did it all go off the way you two planned it?"

I blinked in surprise, but Tony nodded. "You know, it really did. The students seemed to enjoy themselves, didn't they, Sara?"

She gave him a very bright, wide, gap-toothed smile that had my heart fluttering, despite not even being directed at me. "Well, _I_ certainly did. …But yes, I think the reaction was positive…" She maintained her observations out of the building and into the parking lot, where we all stopped, and after a beat, Sara spoke up for us. "So… Did you guys want to grab some coffee before we call it a night? I rarely get a night off so…"

Tony laughed and put a gentle arm around her shoulders. "Oh, you poor thing! Yes, I suppose Gil and I will have to buy you some coffee and some delectable dessert for your time, won't we?" He teased, and she grinned, glancing at me until I nodded my agreement, smiling and wishing I had something witty to say or some excuse to touch her the way he did, unthinkingly.

This feeling persisted through coffee at a diner complete with cheesecake—Sara's covered in chocolate and caramel and a rather large strawberry that she plucked off the top and dipped in the sauce on her plate, eating with an unintentionally provocative air, while she and Tony discussed everything under the sun, including several personal questions that put me on edge, because I was aware that I did not know enough about her to ask such things. Like, "Did all of that business with your scholarship get worked out?" and "Did you decide if you'll be making that trip back to California anytime soon?" and "How _is_ Anni? …The same, I gather." followed, of course, but an indulgent chuckle I didn't understand nor appreciate.

Throughout the ride back to campus, sitting alone in the backseat, I told myself that I should have been more assertive—taken control of this interaction and made her notice me. Of course, I had to argue with myself that there was no reason I should want her attention on me… but then, if I never acted on those feelings, how much could a little indulge hurt? So when, after we climbed out of Tony's car, it became clear that Sara had parked a little further away in a student lot, I stepped up and said I'd walk her to her car. Tony left, and the pair of us began our walk in the dark, Sara's shoulders a little hunched from the cold bite of the night and the misting spray of precipitation that was not heavy enough to warrant turning back to take my car over to hers, but which still managed to coat your skin in a thin layer that seeped in and chilled you deeply.

She shivered, and with an impulsiveness I didn't feel, I stepped closer and put my arm around her in the same way Tony had. "…Cold?"

She looked up at me out of the side of her eyes, a very small smile on her pink lips. "…Better now." The man in me roared, and the scientist in me scratched his head. Something about her reaction wasn't… surprised enough… but did I really want to see shock and disgust in her gaze? Especially when she'd just allowed the same thing from Tony without a second glance? No, of course not. Maybe Sara was a very touchy-feely person. Maybe Sara didn't see this as me crossing a line.

Maybe it wasn't.

"…I'm sorry. I should have driven you over here… the rain is…"

"Nice." I glanced at her in surprise, our faces rather close together, and she smiled that coy little smile again. "I mean, now that I'm not cold anymore… It is nice. …Nothing like rain on your face to make you feel alive."

I pursed my lips, wondering about this statement, setting it aside for later consideration. "…No, nothing like warm rain on your face to make you feel… alive. Makes me miss California. And Minnesota."

She snorted a laugh. "Minnesota?"

I quirked a smile. "Yeah… they get lots of thunderstorms in the summers, so it'll be humid all day and then in the early evening the thunder will start rolling in and the lightning flashing against the purple clouds hovering at the horizon, just above the most brilliant sunset you've ever seen… and then it starts to rain, but it's still so hot and humid outside that the rain hardly feels cold. If it just comes down slow and steady, you could stand outside for half an hour before you started to feel the chill…"

Her eyes were fixed on mine, and I realized that our walking had slowed, but I wasn't sure how to pick up the pace without breaking the moment. Slowly, she licked her lips, her eyes taking on that slightly distracted, clouded appearance of searching for words. Finally, "…Do you wish you hadn't left Minnesota?"

Heat flared in my stomach at her words, and at the sight of her tongue, though it seemed removed from the upper portion of my body, which was still cold with rain and fixed on her eyes, so dark here, illuminated by only the occasional streetlight. "No. I… I want to go back, eventually, but… I couldn't be there anymore."

"…Why?" She asks me, but we're coming up on her car, and as she turns to it, I release her, hoping to let the subject die. I don't want to talk about losing my friend, but I also don't want to talk about my girlfriend in Madagascar. Judge me all you like, but it wasn't so much a conscious decision as a problem with impulse control—I was unable to control my impulse to hide her until after I'd already attempted to, avoiding her question, and at that point, did I really want to bring it all up again?

In any case, she was pulling keys from her pockets, unlocking a rather old, beaten-up-looking vehicle, and slipping inside to start it before she bid me goodbye. I waited, trying to focus on what would be an appropriate parting for a student and teacher in this moment, and so it startled me when she seemed to fly from the car, slamming the door, without my ever hearing it start. …Oh. It hadn't started.

Which is when she hauled off and kicked her car, before hopping around like a bunny, clutching her food in pain.

I gave her a second before I finally stepped forward, catching her shoulders gently and turning her to me. She looked embarrassed, and so very cute in that embarrassment, her cheeks coloring and her mouth falling open, trying and failing to find an explanation for her behavior. I chuckled softly. "…Car won't start?"

"…No." She sighed. I quirked a smile.

"Come on, let me give you a ride home."

"…No, I… I don't have any way to get back to school tomorrow. Or work. I-I-I… I need to figure out what's wrong and fix it. Shit!" She murmured again, this time a whisper rather than an exclamation, and her eyes were just shiny enough to tell me she was fighting back tears. "I just… I really don't have the money to fix my car right now…"

Without thought, my hands moved from her shoulders to her cheeks, bracing her face and tilting it towards me. Once I had done so, of course, I had an internal alarm going off, telling me that I wasn't just crossing a line, I was running straight into enemy territory, screaming, with my hands waving above my head…but to pull away now would only call more attention to my faux pas. I played it off like I cupped the cheeks of all my students in dark parking lots at nearly eleven at night. "…I'll pick you up, tomorrow, and after class we'll take a look at the car, okay?"

She blinked in surprise. "…Really? You can… you know how to… Really?"

I chuckled softly and let my hands fall, feeling like now that she was calm, it was not so awkward to pull away. "Well, I mean, most of my knowledge is incomplete… but I've taken apart my share of vehicles, so I think we should be able to figure it out. You may be late for work, but it's better than paying a mechanic…"

She nodded, with wide eyes, and I smiled softly at her, reopening her car door and retrieving her keys. I passed them to her, locked the vehicle, and slid my arm around her shoulders again as we turned to head back to the Union parking lot and my car. I mean… it was still raining, and still quite cold, and now she was emotional. …It was perfectly natural that I should pull her against my side and attempt to offer warmth and comfort and solidarity, wasn't it?

The walk back to my car seemed to pass more quickly, and, once inside, I turned the heat up high, hoping to warm her red nose and cheeks and dry out her slightly damp hair. She gave me directions and I pulled out of the parking lot, tossing looks in her direction as often as I thought was safe. I was worried she was going to get sick, and had half a mind to stop somewhere for chicken noodle soup before dropping her at home, before I realized that it was far too late to expect anything to be open. I frowned a little and glanced over at her again, but she didn't seem to be shivering anymore. Instead, her eyes were on me.

"…What?"

"You don't want to tell me why you left Minnesota."

I blinked in surprise. I was not used to people being so direct. After a moment of hesitation, I shook my head. "No, I don't."

She nodded, turning her eyes back to the windshield, and I felt remorse wash through me. Maybe I should just tell her. Maybe I—"You missed your turn… take the next right and double back…"

I sighed and focused on my driving, taking occasional directions, and finally pulling up outside a rather nicer building that I would have expected considering Sara's car and the way she'd just been fretting about the money to fix it. She offered me a smile, but I wasn't sure how genuine it was, and even leaned across the center console of my car to give me a loose, one-armed hug. "Thanks Dr. Grissom. I… For everything."

"When's your first class?"

"Oh. Um… I can just take a bus or walk or something. Really. I'll be fine."

I shook my head. "No, really, Sara. I'd be more than happy to give you a ride. My first class is at eight, so I try to be there by a quarter after seven… when's your first class?"

"…Seven."

I smiled and nodded. "I'll be here at six forty then, okay?"

She nodded, looking a little meek and a little uncertain, and then moved forward quickly and caught me in a much tigher, two-armed hug. "Thank you." Her voice was a little watery, and this time I let my hands rest on her smooth, narrow back, my thumb brushing over the knobs in her spin.

"…You're welcome, Sara."

She pulled back, gave me another smile, and hurried out of the car, waving when she was at her doorway before letting herself in. I waited another moment or two, just to be sure things were okay, and then headed home. I had quite probably missed Allison's phone call, if she'd made one, but I just couldn't bring myself to be concerned about it.


	11. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Once again, HUGE thank you to my loyal readers and reviewers, who motivate me to stay up until twelve thirty to post another chapter. :) You make my day.

I hope you enjoy.

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Chapter Ten:

I felt quite satisfied with myself.

No, that isn't true. I said I would be honest and, well… by the time I woke up the next morning, I had convinced myself that I was quite satisfied. This isn't to say that I didn't feel proud of myself as I left Dr. Grissom's car and headed inside, but there was a shadow hovering over me that left me almost… trembling. I told myself that it was the cold and hurried upstairs to take a hot shower. In the back of my mind, I suppose I wondered where Anni was, but it was earlier than she would have been home if I'd been working, so I disregarded it. My nice clothes went right back into the closet—I hadn't sweat in them and my heels had kept the bottom of my pants off the wet ground. I didn't want to wash them more than necessary and have them fade or look worn out prematurely.

Under the water, though, I couldn't seem to get warm. My skin was hot to the touch, but I was chilled to my bones. My previous lovers would have given me the money to fix the car if they'd seen me react that way—although it was unlikely they would—but I couldn't imagine that a single one of them would have offered to fix it. Even if they would have known how. It was a gift of time—of genuine concern—not simply resources and… appeasement. At the time, of course, I didn't understand it in this way. I rationalized—they hadn't known how because they were men who were in professions, unlike Dr. Grissom, where they didn't work with their hands. His expertise came from field work. And besides, they had been older than Dr. Grissom… they had the money to spoil me, so they didn't need to exert themselves to solve my problems. That was a sign of a well-established man, strong and stable and secure.

Despite my skin, still hot to the touch and bright pink in the mirror as I stepped out, I could feel myself shivering. I went to bed without drying my hair, sleeping in flannel pajama pants, a fleece Harvard sweatshirt, and thick socks I would have laughed at before I moved to Boston. Being as slight as I was, it seemed like I was always cold in the winters up here. I surprised myself by falling asleep rapidly and sleeping for several hours, despite how early it was and my usual insomnia. I still woke up at four, but I felt as though I'd slept a week's worth in a single night. I stayed in my cocoon of warmth for at least an hour before sliding out and trudging into the bathroom that was between my room and Anni's.

At first, I simply started the water and stared at my reflection, thinking that my face looked a little brighter than I was used to and that this sleeping thing would be great if I could figure out how to do it every night… but I was a naturally observant person, and I realized that Anni's contact solution and case weren't on the counter, where they usually were. I frowned at it and moved to her door, opening it to find her bed empty. …She hadn't come home the night before. This was strange, yes, but not altogether worrying. I mean… I felt like there was something I was missing, but I wasn't concerned. She had obviously planned to spend the night somewhere.

Another shower and I felt better than I had in weeks. Optimistic and excited. I once again dressed with care, but this time I was going for a different effect… because short skirts in the cold, early morning didn't look sexy, they looked foolish. And from the chill still in the air, I figured it might still be raining. Neither of my bedroom windows faced the front of the townhouse we were renting (thanks in large part to Anni's endless allowance), but I took my jeans and button down shirt with the three-quarter-length sleeves and deposited them in Anni's room, beside the window that did face the front. I opened the curtains and turned on the lights for good measure, and then finished getting ready and packing up my bag, depositing it by the front door. I straightened my hair—I was fairly certain he'd only seen in curly—letting the ends flip up. I put on a matching bra and underwear set—brown lace, with pink ribbons. It felt every-day enough to not seem suspicious, but still sexy. And then, huddled by a hall window that also faced the front of the building, I waited for him to pull up.

I recognized the car down the street and, taking a deep breath, hurried into Anni's room, doing my best to look like I was frantically hurrying to get ready. I had a toothbrush in my mouth for good measure, though I'd brushed my teeth half an hour ago, and didn't glance at the window as I shimmied into my jeans and then slid the shirt on, hastily buttoning it with my entire torso facing the window but my head bent down, focused on the buttons. …If he hadn't noticed me up here, he would surely be by the door now, wouldn't he?

I turned and rushed to the bathroom, replacing my toothbrush in its holder and giving myself another once-over, pleased with the knock that sounded up the stairs. At the very least, the timing fit. I turned off lights as I hurried downstairs, opening the door in a rush. "Hey, sorry, come in. I just have to grab socks and then I'm ready. I overslept a little." I said in a rush, offering him a smile and then turning to run back up the stairs. The short glance I'd gotten of him told me very little. I couldn't tell if he'd seen me or not, but I certainly hoped… especially with all the progress I'd made the night before. I snagged a pair of socks and slipped them over my feet before coming back down the stairs in a rush. He'd closed the door, and was standing in my entryway with his hands in his jacket pockets, a small smile on his face.

"There's no rush, Sara… we've got time. I can drop you off at the door to your building—you don't need to worry about walking from a parking lot. Have you eaten?"

I blushed, and shook my head. "It's fine. I can grab something in between classes." I bent and picked up a shoe, attempting to slip it on without untying the laces and stumbling a little. I had intended to do this with the other shoe as well and then tip, letting him catch me—but I didn't have to. He caught my shoulders gently the first time I stumbled, steadying me while I slipped into my footwear. I glanced at him, smiling a little shyly. "…Thanks."

"No problem. Really, Sara, I'm not in any hurry. Grab yourself something to eat…"

I blinked, looking uncertain, and then slowly nodded. "…Okay. Can I get you something? I'd kill for a cup of coffee…"

He chuckled, and followed me as I moved through the hallway into the kitchen, dumping out the coffee I'd made earlier that morning—thankfully early enough that the fresh smell wasn't still lingering—as if it were yesterday's leftovers and starting a fresh pot. A glance at the clock told me that we really did have time—he was here ten minutes early. Without needing me to tell him to, he slid into one of the seats pulled up to the bar top that was our only dining surface. Digging for a moment, I came up with fruit, yogurt, bagels, and toast. I tried to tempt him and failed, until I chanced upon a container of chocolate chip muffins I'd bought on an impulse and completely forgotten.

He took one with little to no arm twisting, and I cut a grapefruit in half and added sugar while the coffee finished brewing. I hadn't expected this, of course, but it was nice… sitting with him, eating muffins and drinking coffee and licking the sugary fruit juice from my spoon when I knew he was watching me out of the side of his eyes. It was a domestic moment with a man I hardly knew and it certainly hadn't been a part of my plan for seduction… but it was comfortable. Short, but… sweet. In ten minutes we'd cleaned up and moved back to the entryway, and he waited patiently while I slipped into a coat, picked up my backpack, and then locked the door behind us while we stood in the drizzling morning.

"This, uh… is a nice place. Especially for a poor college student." This last part came with a teasing tone, but I could tell he was genuinely curious. I offered a sheepish smile.

"My roommate's family is pretty well off. I can afford my half of the rent as long as she covers the utilities and other expenses. …We wanted to be roommates, but she was pretty used to a certain kind of lifestyle…" He chuckled softly and we slid into his car in what felt like a single movement, fluid and in-sync. I offered him a smile and pretended not to notice when his eyes flickered down to my blouse which was unbuttoned just far enough to entice the eye.

He dropped me off, as promised, and I moved through my day in a blur of happiness, feeling as though so many previously irritating things in my life were now practically enchanting. I found Dr. Felton's appreciative gaze, reminiscent but much more lingering than Dr. Grissom's had been, almost flattering. And when the end of the day came and I entered Dr. Grissom's classroom, it was all I could do to keep from skipping to my desk. He started in, talking about my car, and I got the feeling he'd spent a good portion of time, either last night or today, reading about possible car problems and how they could be fixed without a trip to the mechanic. That strange flare of melancholy approached again, baffling me, but it was quickly swept away as I involved myself in his discussion.

In class, we went over the technological advances that had been made in identifying trace evidence, but I couldn't focus. It might have been the first time that I was bored while listening to Dr. Grissom teach. I had to curl my toes up in my shoes to prevent myself from leaping to my feet when he dismissed class. Together, we walked over to my car and I unlocked it and popped the hood, watching as he bent his skinny—really, almost scrawny, except for those broad shoulders—body over the engine. …I didn't know anything about cars, so what he was doing was nonsense to me, but he seemed to understand it. Occasionally he would ask me to do something—pass him one of the tools he'd brought in a handheld tool kit or try to start the car or hold his flashlight—but mostly I sat on the ground, leaning against a tire, just talking to him.

God, I over-talked around him.

Not about anything in particular… but he just had a way of getting me going on a topic and then I didn't know when to quit. He'd mentioned theoretical physics and something concerning the nature of the universe and fifteen minutes later I'd realize my mouth was dry because I hadn't stopped talking longer than it took to draw breath and that he was standing, no longer looking at the engine, because he was waiting for me to finish so he could ask me to start the car. He asked about my family, and so I told him about California. I said my parents had owned a Bed and Breakfast right on the ocean, which was true, and that I would spent all of my free time on the beach, which was also true. I just didn't mention that I hadn't lived in the B and B since I was too little to go to the beach by myself and that these memories were very… abridged. I talked about how much I loved the ocean and about learning how to surf. I wasn't sure if he noticed that I hadn't really said anything substantial about my family, but he didn't ask, and I wasn't sure why I felt relieved and yet saddened by this.

I wanted to ask him about Minnesota, but I wasn't sure what was or wasn't off-limits. The night before he'd told me outright that he didn't want to discuss…

"That's the only thing I really missed in Minnesota. Lots and lots of lakes, but no ocean. …It isn't the same." I blinked in surprise, glancing up at him from my place on the ground. He'd taken off his over-large glasses and put them on my passenger seat when he started, and somewhere along the line had removed his coat as well—it was no longer raining, just chilly, but his red face told me he was warm from the work he was doing on the car. His shirt sleeves were rolled and surprisingly well-defined forearms flexed as he moved, reaching and gripping and twisting tools while he spoke. "Still, I guess it's better than nothing…" he continued, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand and smearing grease in a small, thin smudge over the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow. His curls were just rumpled enough to look adorable and a little… reckless. I swallowed hard. "I couldn't imagine living without some body of water… but you know how that feels."

I blinked, taking a long moment to register his words. "…Oh. Well, I mean, I've lived in Boston for three years, so…"

He frowned, looking up from whatever he had been so intently focused on a moment before. "…There's an ocean here…"

I shrugged, sheepish again. "Right. No, I know. But… it isn't the same. It's not the Pacific."

He laughed—not just chuckled, but laughed outright—and it was so surprisingly warm and open and… defenseless. I turned fully to look at him, watching him brace his hand against my front bumper while he laughed, his whole body bent into it. And I couldn't help but smile and laugh too. After a several long moments, he turned his shockingly blue gaze fully on me again and grinned a little mischievously. "The next warm day, whether it's next week or next summer, we're going to the beach."

My mouth fell open in surprise, but what could I do but laugh and agree? His grin remained firmly in place while he tinkered for another couple minutes before telling me to try again. I pushed myself to my feet and slid through my open driver's side door and into the seat, turning the key and…

It started.

He _whooped_. There are no other words for it—male pride was practically oozing from his pores as he moved around the car to exchange an elated gaze with me. I was so compelled to kiss him—to run my hands over his grease-streaked cheeks and into his curls—that I actually stood up and moved forward… before stopped, hesitating, uncertain. He smiled, catching my movement and pulling me into a gentle hug. "…You're welcome, honey." He said softly, barely audibly, and I realized that there must have been gratitude written all over my face. …Which I was thankful for. It was preferable to him seeing the lust lingering just beneath the surface.

Still, I had butterflies in my stomach when I stepped back. …I wasn't sure when the last time I'd gotten butterflies—true, honest to goodness butterflies, not just that swooping, tingling heat—but I was certain that I had missed them.


	12. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: :) Thanks again to all of my reviewers. You mean so much to me. Hope you enjoy this chapter. It, uh... was fun to write. Lol.

Oh, and if anyone is planning to google Isabel Sarli after this chapter, you might consider putting on your safesearch first. :) It may or may not help. Hehe.

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Chapter Eleven:

I was thankful that I was buried under her hood and that most of the time she kept her eyes off me.

I had glanced up at her home that morning in the dreary, rainy, cold, making sure that I was indeed at the right place, and caught sight of the profile of her body, shimmying into her tight jeans, breasts bouncing at the action. Jesus Christ, that was enough to have me aching. I immediately averted my eyes down, knowing she can't have known I was there and thinking how unfair—how violating—my mistake had been. I took my time, breathing deeply, eyes focused on my knees, trying to reduce my…reaction. I was failing miserably, at first, berating myself for being no better than a peeping Tom who desperately wanted to take himself in hand and solve the problem. This thought, however, reminded me vividly of the time my mom had walked in on me masturbating when I was fourteen.

My house had always been silent, growing up, but the hours following that had consisted of the most oppressive silence of my life. I never complained of how quiet the house was, after that day. Which, of course, had ended with my mom _knocking_—she had never knocked before—on my bedroom door just before bedtime. My face burning red and hot, I had gotten up and opened the door for her. She wouldn't have heard me yell that she could come in, and if I took too long, she would be suspicious that I was doing _it_ again. I had taken a single glance at her, and then looked away, despite knowing how much this limited her. Sure, at home, we occasionally spoke out loud. She didn't like the idea of me living in a silent home as we were both rather quiet people and she didn't listen to music or watch TV anymore, and she could read lips well enough for it... But it was just a force of habit—so natural from being out in public or at the gallery—to sign instead.

She stepped into my room as I backed away to sit on the edge of my bed. She seemed like she was going to come sit next to me, and then wavered, uncertain about sitting on the sheets I'd just been jacking off on not six hours previous. She sat at my desk chair instead, and after a long pause, had started speaking. "Gilbert… I'd like you to speak with Father Joseph."

I snapped my gaze up to her, feeling like my face would burst into flames if it got any hotter, shaking my head. "No. …No, I'm… I'm not… _Mom_!" I complained, hating myself for sounding so much like a child in that final plea when the basis of my half-formed argument was that I was growing up. I wanted to tell her that Dad would have understood… or that she couldn't talk to me about this because she wasn't my dad... but either option would have hurt her more than me, and I was the man of the house now. I stifled those words, but I could keep my eyes on her now. She was the one looking down, making her voice a little more mumbled than usual.

"Gilbert, I… I know that you're getting to be… about that age. You need a man to discuss your… body… with you. And you need to know that God wants you to save yourself for the girl you're going to marry."

I don't know that I'm an atheist now, but at the time I had prided myself on my sole belief in science. I went to church with my mother, dutifully, several times a week. She didn't have to remind me—by the time she got home from the gallery on Tuesday and Thursday I was dressed in my church clothes and had reheated leftovers. She'd smile and kiss my cheek and eat with me and I'd roll up my dress shirt sleeves and don her frilly apron and do the dishes while she changed for mass. Because she needed that, but I didn't. Not anymore. And though I didn't share that with her—or anyone—I was proud of my logical, unemotional assessment of the world. I'd dissected enough cats to understand death at this point, and there was no glowing ball of light or space where a soul ought to reside.

Still, I couldn't exactly tell my mom that even if I had believed in Him, I doubted very much that God cared whether I had dirty thoughts about Isabel Sarli or not. …I especially couldn't say this because I was certain I wasn't supposed to know who she was. I'd read about her in the New York Times at the library and spent a good deal of my allowance getting myself to a theatre in L.A. that was showing "Fuego." I'd expected to have to sneak in, but the man at the front seemed entirely unconcerned with the fact that I clearly hadn't been shaving a year. Even with subtitles, it had basically rocked my world.

"…I know that, mom. I don't need to discuss…anything. I have my biology books. I understand."

"It's not the same, Gil. I know it isn't easy for you… growing up without your…father." Her voice cracked over her words, and something inside me trembled and then broke—not in a sharp snap, but a soft, dissolving kind of way. I looked at my feet.

"I'll… try to talk to him."

This seemed to be enough. She nodded, moved over to hug me and kiss my forehead the way she'd been doing before bed since I was a very little boy, and then seemed to reconsider. She put a hand to my shoulder instead and squeezed, before leaving me to sleep. I wanted to take the coward's way out—not tell him and hope very much that she would never find out—but it had been hard for her to accept me as a man… to stop a ritual she'd followed as religiously as her actual religion. So I chose to be man, and told Father Joe that I had sinned, despite my sincere lack of concern over it. To this day, my face burned when I thought about it, but when I stepped out of confession and, at her questioning gaze, gave her a small nod, her look of relief and happiness told me it had been worth it. That was the kind of thing that men did. They made sacrifices and took care of the people they cared about and worried about the greater good.

This memory was enough to wilt any reaction the young and tempting Sara Sidle had inspired, and I'd moved to her door to pick her up for school. Breakfast had been cozy, but the shame was in my memory kept me in line. Hours later, however, with her in my classroom and then walking to her car, I couldn't entirely keep the image of her barely-clothed body from attempting to invade my mind. So it was very, very good that she didn't lean over her engine with me and that the way she leaned against the car obscured those body parts which were the most dangerous with me in this state.

Apparently, however, her voice was enough to reduce me to a silly, giddy teenage boy. I listened with rapt attention as she described the bed and breakfast she'd grown up in, a large, old, green beach house with white trim and a porch swing and five large guest rooms. The kitchen had opened onto a porch with stairs right down to the beach and she'd grown up in the waves of the Pacific. There was something about her… something about the way she described the ocean… that made me think that from this moment on I might never think of her without imagining that giant expanse of blue in correlation. Her words were almost… sensuous. She loved the ocean the way an infant loves the sound of its mother's voice or… the way a puppy loves the alarm clock in its box, reminding it of its mother's heartbeat. It was like a surrogate family… which seemed an appropriate description, as I'd yet to hear anything to indicate she had not merely sprung into existence from sea form like Aphrodite, except "My parents owned a B and B."

This line of thought, of course, then had my head filled with all kinds of images of Sara-as-Aphrodite. My mother would have been appalled at my vision of my brunette vixen standing straight and tall on a shell like in Botticelli's Birth of Venus. But this was the least risqué of my imaginings—I saw her underwater, brown curls billowing around her face and shoulders with angelic grace, her thin, lithe, naked body tinted a delicious blue from the water. I saw her head break the surface and her breasts heave as she drank in air. I saw her prone on the beach, a thin layer of sand clinging to the underside of her dripping wet body, legs parted just enough to seem inviting.

And caught up in these imaginings, I found myself talking about Minnesota and then the ocean and then laughing that she saw the Atlantic as so inadequate compared to her true love and first home that she hadn't bothered to make a single trip to the ocean in the three years since she'd moved across the country. In a moment of absolute, unthinking foolishness…I asked her to go to the beach with me. I was pretty sure I hadn't done anything like that with a girl since college, and I didn't know what I expected to happen once we got there. Like I needed to see her in a little swimsuit. …Like my own swimsuit would give me any means of maintaining dignity around her. It was just lucky that it was well into fall and the trees were turning colors. It was more likely than not that the next beach-friendly day would come next year. There was every possibility that my proposal will have been forgotten by then, and every possibility that I'll have gone back to Minnesota by then.

I contented myself with these rationalizations, managing to keep myself firmly under control, ruminating instead over the car—the damned car that I was supposed to be fixing. The only reason I was here with her at all. …The car that if I couldn't fix, would cost her a good deal of the money she didn't have. The car that brought her to me three times a week. I paid more attention after that, and the next time I asked her to start it… it did. I absolutely couldn't help the flood testosterone and pride that rushed through me, nor the resulting shout. I didn't drag her off to my cave by her hair, but I could feel that same primal kind of urge pulsing through me as I caught her surprised, elated, and deeply grateful eyes. I positively _throbbed_ in that moment, and then she stopped moving towards me, hesitating. With every last fiber of my self-control straining, I pulled her into a hug and breathed in the scent of her hair. I was dizzy with her, and convinced that she even smelled like the Pacific. I murmured, "You're welcome, honey." because I felt the need to explain why I pulled her against me when she had wavered, and because I wanted to call her a pet name. I think that was part of the caveman thing—a term of endearment to prove that I could… that I was not so old for her that she couldn't be 'honey' to me.

She shivered against me when I did, and I was grateful when she pulled away because I had lost the ability to think coherently. I was so very close to an edge I hadn't even seen beneath my feet until this moment, and if she'd push me… just a little… I would willingly fall or gladly jump. Given just a little incentive…

But she was late for work. So she thanked me again, gave me a smile that would probably be illegal in several states, and slid into her car and out of the parking lot. I packed up my tools, walked to my own vehicle, drove home, and paced my living room thinking about her. It was wrong—so, so wrong—to want a student this badly. I talked myself out of going to The Lantern several times, telling myself that she would surely know that it had been intentional and if my affections weren't returned, she could talk to someone at the University about my inappropriate behavior. And if they were… if she wanted me too, as she sometimes seemed as though she might… well, that was worse, wasn't it? What on earth would I do if she admitted such a thing? Lifted the flood gates, so to speak. Who could fight back against such a deluge?

I had missed Allison's call the night before, and tonight I made my excuses—I was sick and had been for a couple days. I'd been asleep when she called and was about to head to bed now. She let me go with a sympathetic cluck of her tongue and her sincere wishes for me to feel better. The twinge of guilt within me was muted enough to push aside as I finally lost the battle I'd been fighting and grabbed a jacket on the way out my door, intent on finding her bar and seeing her again. Even if it was just in passing. Even if I didn't even get to talk to her. …It would be better than enduring tonight and tomorrow and tomorrow night and Sunday and Sunday night and all of Monday morning until she appeared in the doorway of my classroom again. And, after all, it was a Friday night… I was in my early thirties. There was no reason I couldn't go have a drink at a local bar.

After a moment's thought, however, I went to change—jeans and a t-shirt. She had described the bar as a large hole-in-the-wall and I didn't want to look out of place. …And, you know, not that this was important or… or part of the decision to change, or anything, but… I looked a lot younger this way. T-shirts had a way of making my shoulders look broader than they were and while I looked kind of scrawny in a suit and button-up, in a t-shirt I looked a little more… manly. Not that I cared about any such thing, really. I had just wanted to go out on a Friday night. And I didn't know anyone my age in town. And this was the only bar I really knew about… and, you know, having sports on was pretty much a given, which would be preferable to some kind of dance club atmosphere. It was all very easily explained and justified.

Except for me leaving my glasses in the car when I finally found the place. ...The prescription was low and I would really only struggle to read very small print from far away… but I hadn't gone anywhere but to the shower without them since the day I got them.

Until now.


	13. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: So I struggled with this chapter for forever. I realize that it's massive, and I could have broken it in two, but by the time I realized that that made more sense, I was basically half-way through what would have been chapter thirteen, so I just finished. If it doesn't suck, it's because I got some amazing help from Pati, who became a sort of impromptu beta for this chapter :). Also, my intention was to have it up on Friday night... it didn't happen. On the bright side, I bought a wedding dress on Saturday! :D (Sorry. I had to share.)

Hope you guys enjoy. Thanks, as always, for being the most amazing readers in the world. :)

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Chapter Twelve:

Anni wasn't speaking to me. She was sitting with the group, at the usual table, acting like everything was fine… but it wasn't. She didn't meet my eyes, she didn't greet me separately, and she didn't give me the smile that lured everyone she met to her with that unmistakable gravity-like force. She ordered her drink from me like I was just any waitress, and I was tempted to ask her for an ID if she was going to act like that, but we were in front of everyone, and I didn't want to call attention to the problem.

I tried to figure out what exactly I might have done to upset her. It was Friday night, and I hadn't seen her since… Wednesday night? Thursday I'd woken up before her and gone to school, where she'd already been when I returned home, and then I'd gone to the seminar before she'd come back. Dr. Grissom had given me a ride home, and Anni hadn't come home that night. So on Thursday, after I left, she must have taken her stuff and gone to sleep at Todd's. Had I upset her on Thursday, or had I said something to bother her on Wednesday and she'd simply not been mad enough to sleep somewhere else immediately after it happened? Anni was sometimes like that—the longer she was upset about something, the bigger the issue became in her mind.

But I didn't really have the time to confront her—it was busy. Friday nights were, as you might expect, busier than regular week nights, but this bar wasn't exactly a happening place for young people. We had our regulars—people who lived or worked nearby—and we had the occasional group come in, at the youngest in their late twenties or early thirties, but usually older than that. Middle aged couples and collections of coworkers—professionals, who appreciated the old-world appeal of the ancient brick wall and the creaking wooden sign outside and the shiny, real hardwood bar that was Eddie's pride and joy. But this was more than the usual busy—from the sounds of some of the conversations I'd overheard among one large group in my section, there was some kind of convention in town and the local attendees had suggested to the larger group that they come here.

Size-wise, that was fine—we were a large place—but staff-wise, it wasn't. My section was massive, because normally that would still even out to about five tables. Right now I was pulling about fifteen large groups, wishing people would leave and that just one of the girls Eddie was trying to call in would agree to come help us. Or that he'd switch with me for just fifteen minutes so I could mix drinks instead of running between the bar and the tables. It wasn't exactly legal, and I would still be running around… but not as much. It would feel like a break, because right now I was certain that I was sweating and I could feel the pink heat along my cheekbones that told me just how heated I was getting.

I slid up to the bar and called my order to Eddie—scotch on the rocks for a regular in the corner, five fuzzy navels for a table full of women in business suits, and a round of beers for my friends in back. He nodded that he'd gotten it all while he finished serving the couple in front of him and I took off to go take the order of two other young guys—probably college age… young enough that I carded them—who wanted a pitcher. I gave them my best smile and swung my hips as I moved away, hoping for a good tip, and slid up to the bar just as Eddie was setting the women's drinks up on the bar top. I added the pitcher to his list and disappeared again, placing the glasses carefully in front of the women and offering them my most disarming smile; they were all in their early thirties and I could easily be seen as a threat or as a snotty little teenager. It was so busy tonight that if I didn't walk away with several hundred in tips, I might just quit.

Back to the bar in time to pick up the pitcher and the scotch, and finally again to take the bottles which had been resting there, dripping condensation, up to my friends. I was feeling rather harassed and short tempered by the time I made it through the crowds and up to my group to pass out the bottles. I received cheers and laughter and a couple lewd comments tossed out through smirking lips while they tossed money at me, tipping as generously as you can expect from college students, which would have cheered me up immensely if Anni hadn't still been carefully avoiding my gaze. I wanted to roll my eyes and call her out—tell her that whatever I'd done, she just needed to get over… but I wasn't sure that I hadn't done anything. Anni didn't usually pick petty fights in front of other people.

It was the most hectic twenty minutes of my life until Carol arrived. She was a middle-aged woman who hadn't worked in several weeks because she was babysitting her grandchildren at night during the school year—her daughter was at Boston Bay and worked nights to pay for it— and had apparently left the kids with her husband in order to come in and help us out. I almost cried with relief when she slipped behind the counter and Eddie directed her over to me. She took half my section and before all the pink could recede from my cheeks, several groups were rising to head home. Eddie motioned me over and told me to take a break while I had the chance. A glance at the clock told me that it was just after eleven and that if I wanted any food, I needed to get my order in while it was slow. If we picked up again around midnight, which was common—though not in such numbers—I'd never eat.

I threw my apron behind the counter and rushed into the back, ordering myself everything I could think of—God, I was hungry—Nachos and a slice of pizza and mozzarella sticks and a side order of fries. Larry, a guy in his mid-thirties who did the cooking on the weekends and always hit on me, grinned at the enormity of my order and promised he'd bring it out to me _personally_. With a grateful sigh, I hugged him, pulling away before he could grab my ass. I made a detour to grab myself a cold bottle of beer from behind the bar and then moved up to sit with my friends, plopping down in an empty space on the booth and exhaling loudly. "Somebody kill me."

Josh chuckled, throwing a well-sculpted arm around me. "And deny the world the pleasure of seeing your gorgeous heinie every day? …Never."

The table laughed, but I just rolled my eyes in exhaustion. "Oh, what do you care? You're gay." I accused, a little grumpily. He grinned devilishly.

"Well, that would make me uniquely qualified to judge, wouldn't it? I happen to be an ass expert." He wiggled his eyebrows, and even Anni laughed, though Todd didn't. He was newer to the group, and didn't seem to find the same joy in bucking the societal status quo that the rest of us did.

He cleared his throat, cutting the hilarity short. "Who's up for pool?"

There was a sort of mass exodus at that as Larry broke through the group to hand me my piles of food. He had hardly set the food down before I had a mozzarella stick in my mouth and the ketchup bottle in hand, hovering above my fries. …Which is why it took me so long to realize that everyone but Anni had accompanied our resident homophobe to find an empty pool table. I glanced up uncertainly, chewing and swallowing and then taking a long swig of my beer. Her eyes, deep and dark and blue, watched me intently, until I broke the silence.

"…I don't know what I did to upset you." It was a little abrupt, but I figured it was better than saying, 'What the hell is your problem?'

"You were off last night."

I blinked. "…And?" I shoved a pile of fries into my mouth.

She scoffed in irritation. "And you promised me that we'd go out, just us girls, on your next night off."

The nacho chip I had lifted half-way to my lips fell back onto the plate. "Oh, shit, honey, I'm sorry. I didn't have the night off, I had to rearrange my schedule to do this school thing…"

"You mean to do a teacher… thing." She raised thin, delicately arched brows and I saw the betrayal lining her perfectly made-up lips.

I swallowed and reached for a napkin, wiping off my hands and watching her, trying to think of something I could say to justify my mistake. I realized, belatedly, that she probably didn't truly want that. "I… There's no excuse. I'm sorry. I… I didn't mean to blow you off."

She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes, but she was quirking a small smile. "Yeah, well… At least tell me the sex was good." She still looked and sounded a little grudging, but the worst had passed.

I snorted in exasperation. "Yeah, I wish."

She frowned and leaned forward, snatching a nacho as I pushed my plates towards the center of the table and took a swig of my beer. "What do you mean? He can't still be holding out…?" She asked in absolute disbelief, but I never got the chance to answer her. Eddie appeared at my elbow with a frown.

"You've got a cop eyeing you pretty closely. I'd ditch the bottle and spend the rest of your break out of sight…" He suggested in a low voice, leaning over me to hide my face from the scrutiny of the cop. With wide, surprised eyes—I was risking my scholarship with a minor—I lowered the bottle to my side, intending to sneak into the back with it held at my side. I'd wipe off DNA and fingerprints (blame Dr. Grissom for that paranoia) and toss it, and then camp out until he left. I glanced up at Eddie, my saving grace, and asked without having to voice the question which patron was the cop I would have to avoid.

He backed up a step and looked at the man, and I followed his gaze over to a figure seated at the bar. His shoulder-blades stood out against the back of his t-shirt, back broad across the top and slowly slimming into a smaller waist. He had curls on his head and seemed like he was in his early thirties—in fact, if this man had been seated in a classroom, wearing glasses and an awful brown jacket…

He turned his head, and the minute our eyes connected, my heart was hammering. Oh god. He was _here._ What did that mean? Had he come here on accident and just caught sight of me? Had he sought me out? What did I do now? I turned, catching Anni's eye. "That's _him!_" I whispered urgently, and her eyes got wide as she looked over more intently this time. My gaze turned immediately to Eddie, whose forehead was wrinkled in confusion. "How did you know he's a cop?" I asked, wondering what it meant that he'd obviously seen me drinking. …And piling greasy food into my mouth. Oh _god_.

"He pulled out his wallet to pay for his drink—he's got an ID in there next to his license with some sort of police emblem on it. Doesn't look like Boston, and he's got a Midwest accent, but you can't be sure… How do you know this guy?" His tone wasn't accusing so much as curious and concerned. I exhaled in a huff.

"He's my teacher." I turned to Anni. "…What do I do?"

A wide smile slid across her face and she laughed. "Oh, honey, you've got it bad… Go talk to him." Her voice was unexpectedly gentle, but maybe that was because my hands were shaking on the table in front of me. This was _not_ the way I would have wanted him to come upon me at work. I could picture myself bent over to hand drinks to a table full of young guys eying me with enough lust in their eyes to provoke a jealous response from my impassive professor… but to be drinking cheap beer and shoving fried…everything...into my mouth like I had an unending appetite? I just wanted to die. She clucked her tongue and slid around the half-circle shaped booth so she could take my hand in hers and squeeze it. "Sara, look at me."

My face felt cold as I turned it to her. She opened her mouth to speak, and then hesitated, glancing up at Eddie. "We're okay—he's not going to turn you or Sara in." He blinked in surprise—Anni only spoke to him to tease him, usually accusing him of wanting to have his way with me— and then took the hint, heading back to the bar. Anni focused her eyes, heavy with eyeliner, on mine. "…That man came to this bar looking for _you_. He would not be here if it weren't for you. And he's sitting over there, _watching you_, waiting for you to notice that he's here. …There are more young and eligible women in this bar than any other night, probably since it opened, but he's watching _you._" I felt the set of my shoulders change a little and my head lift, hands stilling.

"…Yeah?"

She grinned. "Yes, Sara Sidle. And it's no wonder why—you are a sexy little vixen who has lured more than your share of professors to risk their careers and marriages just to have a chance to touch you... He may be younger than most of them and, I'll admit, far more attractive, but the fact of that matter is that he's still just one of many… one more man trailing behind you, waiting for the chance to kiss your feet." She waited a moment here, and I took a deep breath, taking her words in and letting them fill up my chest, letting the confidence take hold. "…Now, casually, I'm going to go back to my side, you're going to laugh and smile at me and continue eating… and if he doesn't come over within ten minutes, you can go to him. …Okay?"

I nodded, slowly, fighting the urge to toss my hair—despite it being pulled into a ponytail—filled to overflowing with her words. She slid away and I did as she said, fighting the overwhelming urge to check and see if he was coming. Ten minutes, of course, came and passed and I finally asked Anni—rather than turning around—if he was still sitting at the bar.

"Mmnhm!" She said, mouth full of the nachos I had pushed aside in favor of eating my pizza one minute bite at a time in order to seem unaffected. "He keeps looking over here and then looking away." This last part was spoken through chips and I felt a rush of affection—she especially liked to do that in front of her parents, who hadn't let her talk with her mouth full as a one year old.

I was doubting myself again, but with a resolute sigh, I straightened my shoulders and met her eyes before slipping out of the booth. I had some of my break yet, but Dr. Grissom didn't necessarily need to know that. I moved behind the bar without meeting his eyes and retrieved my apron, tying it around my waist and finally stepping up to him, hoping he hadn't noticed how long it took to tie the damn thing on because my hands had been shaking again.

"So… You come here often?" I murmured, leaning against the bar in front of him and offering a slow and what I hoped would be seductive smile. A grin flashed across his features and his eyes lit up, but he slid his teacher-face back into place a minute later. Regardless, my heart fluttered.

"I, uh… I don't know any bars in town, but I thought… You talk about this place all the time, and it sounded like it was more likely to have sports on than loud music so…"

I grinned and remained leaning on the bar, just barely invading his personal space. A glance upwards told me that the television was on some kind of sport—football maybe?—but that he didn't seem as interested as he ought to be. "Not your team playing? Lemme change it…"

I fished out the remote even as he shook his head, but when I arrived on another football game, he gave in and told me—"I'm a much bigger baseball fan than anything…" I changed it until it landed on the correct sport, and a glance at him told me that this was the game he'd been hoping to see; his gaze kept flickering between it and me. _Men_.

I pulled his glass towards me and took a sip, figuring that he'd already seen me drinking beer and that he was pushing boundaries by coming here in the first place, especially looking so… young. So god damned delicious. "Whiskey, huh? …Old fashioned." I licked my lips slowly and watched his eyes follow my tongue as lower jaw drop the tiniest bit, leaving his lips parted. "Jameson, not Daniel's… Cultured."

"I, uh… I'm… You're not twenty-one, are you?"

I pursed my lips in amusement and his eyes flashed again, the way they had when I'd first arrived… the way I was beginning to associate with his desire for me. "…Let me get you a refill… Dr. Grissom." He blinked several times, but simply watched while I refilled his glass and replaced it before him before heading off to relieve Carol. We weren't as busy now as before, but it was enough to keep me occupied through most of the night… yet he didn't attempt to steal my attention, he didn't seem like he was anxious to leave, and though he watched baseball and went through another glass of whiskey, I felt his eyes on me all the while.

I was off at one a.m. and the bar was open for another hour. I thought about having him come drink with the group, meet Anni… but it was a passing idea more than an actual plan; it would only emphasize the reasons why he was apparently holding back. So when my shift came to an end, I made a point to make sure all my friends had a fresh drink and took a minute to explain to Anni where I'd be going, if everything went well. Her wide grin and teasing smile told me that she'd put our argument in the past, and I was positively beaming when I slipped back behind the bar, clocked out, and then tossed my apron into the bucket containing dirty bar rags.

He was watching me.

I grinned and moved up to him again, leaning against the bar just a little closer. "So… you feel like taking a walk?" I asked, mostly because I wasn't sure what he was looking for, but I knew I didn't want to keep him here where people I knew might see us and comment—there would be no better way to make sure he felt uncomfortable about taking that final step. His smile was hesitant, but he nodded and stood, pulling out his wallet and laying down a few bucks for a tip for Eddie, who had talked baseball with him for a decent portion of the evening. He pulled a black leather jacket from the back of his chair and slid into it. It wasn't the big and gaudy kind I usually saw on Anni's beaux… the kind that would look natural at a biker rally. It was smooth and sleek and sexy and made him look wildly young and dangerous. I felt my body's immediate reaction take hold of me—quivering, impatient heat shooting straight through me, insistent. I blinked several times and then cleared my throat. "Let, uh…" I cleared it gain. "Let me grab my coat…"

He nodded, standing immobile, and so I nodded awkwardly and then checked myself, straightening my back and walking with a false confidence into the back to retrieve the cheap dark blue corduroy jacket that was my staple through the Boston winters. I slid it on back there so that he wouldn't see the torn lining and wrapped a colorful scarf around my neck to hide the smear of something—chocolate, probably—at the very front near the collar. He was still standing in more or less the same spot when I emerged, watching what looked like the same game he'd been watching earlier. Eddie had a fancy sports package for the bar, so I was never sure when a team was actually playing and when the game was being replayed. "Ready?"

He turned and smiled and as I approached. "Ready. ...You get off at this time every night?" We turned toward the door and his hand fell gently into the small of my back. I glanced at him, wondering what had gotten into him—this was not the shy, hesitant professor I knew. "When do you do any homework?"

I laughed. "An insomniac is not a person who needs _more_ time on their hands…" He held the door open for me and I slipped past him, but he was at my side again almost immediately, hand reclaiming its spot. No, there was no way he'd done it twice without realizing. Dr. Grissom was putting the moves on me. _This was finally happening_.

After a moment I realized that he wasn't exactly sure what to say to that. …If this was happening, he needed some help. I bit my bottom lip just as we came to a stop on a street corner. "There's a park… a couple blocks this way." I pointed, and he nodded, and then we were headed in that direction. I cleared my throat. "So… big plans for the weekend?"

He offered me a placating smile. "Ah, no. Probably catch up on some reading… refine my lesson plans…"

I snorted and he gave me a look, half-amused, half-defensive, one hundred percent uncertain. I grinned. "…You don't need to _refine_ your lesson plans. You're a young guy—you should be out on a Saturday night."

"…I came out on a Friday night." He said, a little formally, and I gave him the sweetest smile I could muster, stepping a little closer while we walked.

"…To see me?"

His cheeks turned a little red, but his lips quirked. "I'd be lying if I answered the way I ought to."

Surprisingly, I found myself blushing, and his eyes flashed again. This time, he shortened the space between us, but it was so small a move that I couldn't be entirely sure he knew he'd done it. The park was fast approaching, and the silence loomed between us, his last statement echoing. Did I ask him what he meant—force the obvious… Did I put him off by not responding, or would I bring him back to his sense by asking about it?

"…I miss seeing stars." He commented softly, and I felt my heart thud a little. My eyes slid to his, which were turned up. I followed them, and saw that it was actually quite a clear night.

"…Are you going blind?" I teased, uncertainly, and he smirked.

"No. I mean… for a city, this is pretty good. But in the rainforest… or way out on the ocean… it's like living on a different planet. …It makes you understand why ancient peoples based their entire existence on what they saw there."

And there, after several exceedingly painful minutes, the ice had been broken and we were speaking of something that somehow bridged the line between romantic and academic. I felt the familiar awe coursing through me as I watched him speak, and then I was going off, a mile a minute. "The rainforest? When did you go? _Where_ did you go? Oh! I can't even imagine how much there is to learn there! God, that would just be amazing! Tell me about it, please? …Were you studying bugs? Were you studying wildlife? Oh! Did you see anything wild and… and… amazing?" I ended lamely, breathless and unable to think of any possible other adjective to describe my awe and excitement and what I imagined he must have seen.

He laughed softly, but his eyes weren't laughing—they were fixed tightly on me, a strange sort of conflict raging in them, and I suddenly became aware that my feet had left concrete and were now on the grass… that trees loomed overhead, blocking out those stars, and that we'd stopped walking. I wasn't sure when any of this had happened in my barrage of questioning, but I was aware that he was quite intentionally stepped towards me. I felt faint and panicky, my chest tight with anticipation, and when my back came into contact with the bark of a tree, I felt deliciously overpowered and… desired. God, he wanted me. He wasn't hiding it anymore. I gave myself over to the overwhelming feeling of acceptance and approval as soft and yet calloused hands slid from just above my elbows, over my shoulders and neck, to finally cup my cheeks and turn my face up to his.

There was a long, aching moment in which I was certain he was about to back out. I stopped breathing, stopped thinking, just sat suspended there, willing him to kiss me. To take me home with him tonight and use me any way he wanted me. And then he was moving, descending to my level—I let my eyes flutter closed and my lips part and I waited. I could feel the nanosecond when he came close enough to me that I could feel him there, even though he hadn't yet touched me—the way you can feel if someone is looking at your or the sense you have that you're not alone. It was primal and instinctual and I knew that if I puckered my lips they would encounter his, but I believed fervently that he needed to be the one to take the leap. He wouldn't own the action, not really, if he didn't. He might be _moral_ and claim responsibility… but in his head, the action would always have started with me.

And then he was gone, stepping bodily away from me and my eyes were snapping open as a rush of disappointment swept through me with unbelievable power. "Sara, I… I'm really sorry. I don't… I don't know what came over me. I… You're… I'm sorry. I know you're a student and that this is… so inappropriate. I…" He looked at me helplessly, at a loss for words, and I sighed under my breath.

"It isn't inappropriate."

"I… what?" He blinked several times, eyeing me with confusion.

I shook my head, stepping closer to him. "…If you'd just met me in the bar a few weeks ago, instead of in your class… would you still have wanted to kiss me?"

"I… Well, I—It's completely different. You're a student and you're… you're young and—"

I slowly slipped into her personal space, speaking so that my breath fell across his lips. "I'm not so young. I'm… old enough to be legal." He shivered and I moved until my face was beside his, my breath against his ear this time. "And it's a valid point. …A kiss would only be… inappropriate… if the basis of my appeal is that I'm your student. If it's about me… then I don't see the problem. I would never expect my grades to change… never expect special treatment. …If it's just about me, then this is all just… biology."

He shuddered and shook his head, trying valiantly to resist, but I could tell that the whiskey he'd finished off before we left the bar was starting to ebb into his thoughts, making arguing with me just a little more difficult. "I… No, it's not just… biology. It's… nothing is that simple…"

I licked the lobe of his ear and then bit it gently, and the shuddering groan that broke from his lips was absolute music to my ears. I had my hands moving from his shoulders up into his curls, pulling my face back to capture his lips—or to let him capture mine. And he was going to… he was poised to, hands grasping my hips and tensing and releasing there, still waging the war. And just as he again came close enough to kissing me that I could have felt rather than seen the proximity of his lips…

"I have a girlfriend."


	14. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: So it's another excessively long chapter, which I'm sure you all don't mind. :) It was not my intention to re-do the entire chapter from Grissom's perspective, but it turned out it kind of needed to be done to really get his mindset at the end right. This is a big homework weekend for me, but I'm kind of on a roll (I whipped all of this out today over a couple hours interrupted by the new puppy's accidents... grr.) so there might be another update this weekend. ...Maybe.

I want to thank Pati yet again, because how this scene ends up playing out would have never gone so well if it hadn't been for her. She was an absolute lifesaver.

Also, JBCC, I think you requested this in your review to Chapter 8. :) I wonder if you think more highly of either Sara or Grissom now?

CSIfan3408, I'll keep that "treat" in mind for the next chapter... maybe.

Thanks to everyone else, even if I don't mention you specifically-I have absolutely the BEST readers in the world, and I want you to know that I know it. 3 Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen:

Walking up to the bar, my first impression was that I was going to be irritated—the swinging wooden sign and heavy doors hinted at a tourist trap, and I was cringing as I pulled one of those doors open, thinking that maybe I'd been rather foolish in coming here. Inside, however, I was pleasantly surprised. There were no waiters in period dress, alcohol was being served in either bottles or glasses, not tankards with questionable lead content, and there were several large televisions spread around the place. The only things in the large, open room—rather like a warehouse with low beams exposed—that matched the sign and door were the ancient brick wall to my right and the large, antique, hardwood bar in the center of the lower level, closest to the door.

I moved there first, because I had no idea where her section would be, and because I liked the bar itself… it had a certain charm that appealed to me. The man behind it seemed like he was probably a few years older than me—late thirties, maybe—but his hair was entirely salt and pepper gray. He had a white bar towel slung over a black t-shirt with an antique lantern on the front and the words, "One if by land, Two if by sea" on the back. His jeans were stained with drinks spilled on evenings past, but his black apron was clean around his waist, betraying how old the denim must have been. His face was lined—the face of a man who had been working and worrying since he wasn't really yet a man at all—but the lines around his mouth, emphasizing his smile and hinting at a large, booming laugh, were the most obvious. I immediately liked him, and felt myself quite at ease here as I took a stool and glanced around myself while he finished helping the three men across the bar from me.

I was on the main level, seated at the bar directly in the center, and there were tables all around me. Across the bar there was another expanse of tables before the brick wall with the fireplace. To my right was the door, my left more tables and, set into the wall, doors to the bathrooms and one labeled 'Staff Only'. Behind, tables and then a second level, upon which were a more tables and a row of booths against the far back wall. In the corner of this level, behind the booths and just up the stairs from the bathrooms, was a series of poorly-lit pool tables.

An eruption of laughter drew my attention back to the booths—one large, horseshoe shaped one in particular. It was a group of very young patrons, but I recognized intimately the back of one head, dark brown curls falling elegantly from a high ponytail as she elbowed a rather muscular boy who had his arm slung over her shoulders. I felt the beginnings of jealousy rising in me. He was probably her boyfriend. A young, smart, pretty girl like Sara wasn't going to be single. …And I had a girlfriend. I did. …A girlfriend I'd blown off in order to come here tonight. I felt a slight twinge of guilt, but it was interrupted when the bartender's slightly rough voice came from right in front of me. "Can I get you something, sir?"

There was a slight edge to his voice—a little more disapproving than rude—and I put two and two together. Hadn't Sara told me he didn't like when customers got… "handsy"? I cleared my throat a looked up at him. "Can I get a Jameson Whiskey, please? …A double, actually."

"Absolutely." He replied, a little more politely, and I watched his calloused hands move efficiently from glass to ice to bottle. "Can I see an ID? …Policy for anyone under 35." He added, as an afterthought. With a slight frown in the direction of Sara's group—who I knew for a fact was not 21—I nodded and retrieved my wallet, paying him for the drink and then showing him my driver's license. His scan was cursory, which made me wonder if he had surveillance cameras somewhere that he was performing for. I doubted very much that he'd actually seen my date of birth.

He set the drink in front of me and gave me a total, which I paid with a tip, and he thanked me and then moved off to help someone else. I replaced my wallet and took a tentative sip—I wasn't really a big drinker—before turning back to glance at Sara. Her group seemed to be leaving the table in the direction of the pool tables and I sought out her boyfriend without even thinking. He was wearing a brown jacket around his massive shoulders, but beneath it he wore a bright pink shirt that looked like it was probably initially intended for a woman… and it read in large letters, "Don't Hate Me 'Cause I'm Beautiful, Hate Me 'Cause Your Boyfriend Thinks I Am." I blinked in surprise. That kind of thing wasn't so rare in LA, although I couldn't say it was all that common either… but I'd been in Minnesota for years. Even in Hennepin County, you seldom saw anyone so… blatant.

Maybe it's just the job I've been working, but my first instinct was to run over and suggest he button his coat… violence against homosexuals was nothing new, but with the panic surrounding HIV/AIDS, it seemed like the atmosphere in the country was that much more dire. Of course, my second thought was shame at my own thoughts… I'd spent so many years hiding myself—having always been the weird kid with the dead dad and the deaf mom who did weird things with cats—that it was my natural reaction to any danger I sensed. A second glance at the man who no longer seemed a threat told me that he looked really happy… and I hoped that he was.

My gaze turned back to Sara, who was speaking to a girl wearing a lot of make-up and whose black hair was tinted purple, telling me that it was not her natural color. I figured, a little belatedly, that this must be Anni… I'd been distracted letting my eyes skate over the back of her exposed neck. I didn't often get the chance to see her from behind as she was always in front of me in class, but that expanse of smooth skin looked almost creamy from here and when she tilted her head back to drink deeply from a bottle wet with condensation… I had a vivid, unsolicited mental image of wrapping my arms around her, my nose trailing over the skin at her nape, pressing into an ass that I had admired an awful lot for someone who never saw her from behind. Her hair always smelled so good, and if she shivered the way she had earlier today, by her car…

The man behind the bar—Eddie—was at their table now. I hadn't realized he'd even left the bar area, but after a few whispered words, both girls turned their gazes to me, and I realized that I'd been staring. I mean, sure, I'd been looking away every couple seconds to take a drink and look less like a creepy old man eyeing young girls… but anyone actually watching me would know that I'd been focused on that table. I looked away as soon as they glanced over, so I didn't catch Sara's expression, but when I glanced a second later… there were definite surprise mixed with the recognition… and a couple other emotions I wasn't so sure of. One was something like fear, which unsettled me… but the other was very close to being overwhelming excitement and happiness, which I preferred.

I felt my heart begin to speed up and took another drink to slow it down. I had been so caught up in looking at her that it hadn't even occurred to me how I would talk to her. …I'd expected to find her working. I'd expected to move into her section and playfully flirt with her, leave her a big tip, walk her to her car when she got off, maybe. Most of what I'd been thinking of had been the flirting. ...It had never occurred to me what I would do if I found her here but not working. I focused my gaze back on my glass and drank more deeply, trying to still the shaking in my hands.

Eddie—I was sure it was him now that the bar towel had hopped shoulders and no longer covered up his white-lettered nametag—returned and topped me off. We exchanged money again, in silence, and there was something in his eyes that made me wonder very much what she had said about me to him. I knew it was something… something had changed in his demeanor. It was still protective, but a little more subtle.

I glanced up at the football game, thinking that I should have seated myself near a baseball game but that I couldn't move now… it would seem like I'd done it because she'd seen me. It would look like I was trying to get closer or trying to avoid her and move further away. No, my only option was to sit tight. That, of course, shouldn't be a problem as I was frozen in my seat. It's a perpetual problem with me and quite probably the main reason I didn't have many girlfriends in college. Once I was away from my high school and among people with similar interests, I wasn't the weird kid anymore… but I had this terrible problem with inaction when I was nervous or uncertain. Not in all situations, of course… but when it came to women and we were not in a context I was particularly comfortable in…

Like in a study group, I could make a double entendre out of anything. I would go so far as to say that, by the end of my undergrad years, I might even be called smooth. …In that setting. But if I ran into the same girl in a bar, like this one… I was a fumbling idiot. And regardless of how unconventional Sara and I's teacher-student relationship was, it did always have that basic structure of teacher and student, in a school setting—extra lessons after class, a seminar, car help on campus simply because I was able… I would have done that for any stranded student, wouldn't I? But here, my palms were sweating, and I was grateful for the cool rush and sweet burn of my drink.

She did come to me, after a while, and I realized she must have been on a break. She'd been eating, after all, and had looked far more relaxed than I'd ever really seen her. I got the strange sense that bar-Sara was more honest than school-Sara, though far more dangerous. She tied an apron around slender hips and stepped up to me, her voice coming a little more seductively than I was used to—or prepared for. "So… You come here often?" She teased, and I felt a grin flash over my face as tingles shot down my spine. God, I was lucky we had the bar between us, because that slinky, sexy phrase had shot me up to strain against my jeans. It was with effort that I removed the grin and regarded her more seriously, as if we were in a classroom.

I know that I offered some explanation as to my presence there, one I can't remember because she was leaning across the bar, invading my personal space, granting me a whiff of her hair and a peek at her cleavage. And then she began fiddling with the TV closest to me, despite my protests that it was unnecessary. …The Twins were playing the Cubs, and my inner loyalties were battling each other as I took in a quick sweep of the game details. Cubs were up a run, but they had two outs and the next hitter wasn't all that reliable…

I had to make myself focus—Sara was by far the more distracting of the two stimuli presenting themselves, but I'd missed this game and it was replaying and I had yet to catch the outcome and…

She reached a slender arm out to take my half-empty glass in hand and took a slow sip. I watched her to it, amazed at her daring, wondering what game she was playing and how much more serious this was than the idle flirting I had had in mind and thinking of what her mouth would taste like now. I know for a fact that she said something about the whiskey itself, but the only thing I really registered was that husky tone again and its effect on me. I stuttered out something to the effect of my concern that she was a minor, and she pursed her lips in a way that said she thought I was funny… and that she very much wanted to do a myriad of things to me, none of which she would let past those laughing lips, but all of which contributed to that smug and satisfied look.

I silently advised myself to stop drinking, and she offered me a refill, which I accepted mutely.

She hurried off then, back to work. They were extremely busy, but it was enough to keep her from me most of the night. Instead, I drank my whiskey and watched her and the game in turns, until the bar slowed even more and Eddie reappeared, replacing someone who had hardly spoken to me, but had kept my glass full. He made sure everyone was covered, and then popped a hip against the counter, just below the bar top, next to me. "Twins, cubs, yeah? I didn't catch this earlier… Do you know who wins?"

I took a sip and shook my head, watching the Twins' best hitter step up to the plate. "No… they're both my teams though, so I can't decide who to root for."

He chuckled at that, glancing at me when he did. "You think that's bad? I lived in New York until I was eighteen… and have lived in Boston ever since. Let me tell you, you can't _be_ a fan of both the Yankees and the Red Sox."

Sara slipped up at that moment, calling out a rather large order that had Eddie occupied for a moment or so while she slipped away. When she returned, he was refilling my glass again, and I hoped it was the only one she'd seen—God, I didn't want her to think I was a creepy old drunk, coming and sitting alone in a bar and putting away a fifth of whiskey.

…Okay, that was an exaggeration, but the point remained that I was here alone. My options were that I was a drunk, a creep, or had come here to see her… which made me a creep _and_ a stalker. I frowned at that and took a drink while Eddie launched into a detailed rendering of the first Sox/Yankees game he'd attended, when he was twenty. We got into quite the discussion, and I felt very much in control of myself until Sara appeared, clocked herself out, and tossed her apron into a bucket of dirty towels. Eddie had run into the back to get something and though I'd seen saw appear and disappear and move fluidly around me throughout the night, this was only the second time I'd been alone in her presence. I wasn't exactly sure what to do with it—If I left now, walking her to her car, then I revealed that I'd only come for her. …If I made no move to leave, then I was the old man drinking alone.

She slinked her way up to me again, hips swaying enticingly, and it occurred to me that I hadn't really eaten in hours. She had a bright smile on her face that threatened to reinitiate the… standing ovation… I'd been giving her earlier, but I was a little desensitized now, having watched her all night, and managed to control myself. She leaned against the bar again, elbows inches from mine, her face decidedly close. She wasn't just poking at my personal space this time, she was pressing through it, breathing in the same air that I was, slipping into all of my senses. I was on an overload. When she asked if I wanted to take a walk, I was slow to respond, her words reaching my ears several seconds after I watched her lips move, but I readily agreed. It wasn't even a matter of questioning right and wrong, just want.

I stood and laid down a decent tip for Eddie, who had thoroughly entertained me this evening and probably served to help me avoid that "creep" mystique. I slid into my jacket where it had been resting on the back of the stool—I really appreciated bar stools with backs—and then she was stuttering, clearing her throat, heading back to get her coat, and it occurred to me that it was possible that she was as affected by me and I was by her. …That was a heady realization, but once it occurred to me, it was so obvious… it existed as the only fact in the world. Standing up, surprisingly, was helping me feel a little more focused. Or maybe it was just the distance from her… she had been affecting me more than I liked to admit. I blinked several times and took a handful of the peanuts that were resting on the bar top, thinking that any amount of food in my stomach would help. I wasn't drunk… but I could _feel_ it.

I glanced up at the game, which had ended with the Cubs making a double play just as the Twins were poised to tie them in the tenth inning. It had been a really good game to watch, and there was a part of me that was glad she'd worked long enough for me to see who'd won—it would have driven me crazy not to know. They were already replaying it, from the beginning, and I knew that I could happily watch it again, but that Sara was absolutely the greater pull… even if I hadn't seen the last half of it.

I know we made small talk… and that in some way relating to the conversation, she admitted to being an insomniac, which both intrigued and concerned me, neither of which I had any idea how to express. I do know that I took great joy in touching her—in a gentlemanly fashion, of course—guiding her by the small of her back, opening the door for her and letting her slip past, walking close to her. I know that she suggested a park and that I agreed and that we attempted the awkward small talk again, until she asked me if I'd come out tonight to see her. That was a dangerously loaded question if I ever heard one, though she had asked it in as innocuous a way as possible, and yet I couldn't seem to muster the right amount of concern over it. Sure, I blushed a little, but mostly I was amused and gave her a rather flippant non-answer that told her the truth anyway.

Despite this being my first clue that I might be closer to drunk than to _feeling it_, I delighted in the blush creeping over her cheeks, making her seem so very innocent and sweet. It was quiet as the park we'd made our destination came closer, the sounds of crickets overtaking me. Call me weird—you wouldn't be the first—but I find being out at night, especially under a sky full of stars, surrounded by the gentle sounds of insects… unbelievably romantic. Not that all of my girlfriends have appreciated this, but especially cricket mating calls… they're the love sonnets of the insect world, and it sets such a gentle scene. I looked up, hoping for stars in the multitudes and finding myself disappointed that they were hidden by the light pollution of the city. "I miss seeing stars." I heard myself murmur softly, and became aware that I was quite close to her.

"…Are you going blind?" She teased me, but the quaver in her voice gave her away… She didn't know what we were doing exactly either, and it gave me an extra level of confidence that I certainly didn't need, what with the alcoholic kind already slipping through my veins. I conceded that for a city this was decent, but told her about the way I always liked to think of stars, the way I'd seen them in the rainforest, miles and miles from people and cities. They were so overpowering… so entrancing… it made you feel like you were part of a deeper, more ancient race of people. More closely connected to the earth and the universe and to your own body.

Come to think of it, that was how Sara made me feel. …How she was making me feel right now.

I just didn't know what to do about that. Didn't I say that I'm useless when I'm out of my element? The alcohol had, to this point… eased my inadequacies. Lubricated the interaction, for lack of a better turn of phrase. I found myself smirking just a little at that at the same time as I was resigning myself to the inevitability—and practicality—of this walk being rather uneventful. I would call myself a cab, go home, and likely jack off thinking of the sway of her hips under my palm, but until then…

But Sara was watching me the way she did in class. She hardly waited a moment after I'd spoken to jump in with her own set of questions about the rainforest, and everything changed. This was a Sara I knew… the Sara who was the student, over whom I had power, whose innate curiosity was something I absolutely understood. My relationship with her was easy, because it was clearly defined, and I had always worked better with guidelines. I tried to stave off my reaction… I warred with myself that she was a student and that it wasn't fair to her and couldn't truly be consensual and that she was so young and so impressionable and so beautiful that it hurt to look at her. But the truth was that none of these arguments seemed to do more than slide off me. The moonlight, however, lingered in her dark curls like silver and lighted her features like she was some angelic figure placed before mere mortals so that they might worship her. Her eyes were dark, her lips sensual and pink, and the scarf she had wound around her neck had me thinking of winding it around her wrists and teasing her body to an orgasm so immaculate that it would live up to the halo of light she was being bathed in.

We had stopped walking, feet from a large oak tree, and without thinking I had moved to her, grasped her arms just above her elbows, and pressed her back into it, reveling it the look of desire that stole over her face, making her appear more woman in that moment than she had ever seemed. Woman, yes, and undeniably dark and beautiful in the shadows and the night, but still the holy creature I had seen draped in silver just moments before… My hands moved in the only way they could move over such a creature, reverently from elbows to shoulders, fingertips sliding over her neck and palms catching her cheeks, tilting her face to me. I studied her gaze, questioning both her and myself… whether she truly wanted it and whether I would truly allow it. There were so many, many reasons not to…

I moved closer, testing, and her eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted… she was the picture of want. Entirely open and receptive and just waiting for me. I descended, close enough to taste her breath, and lingered… but the haze of the alcohol was not so strong that not thinking was still easier than thinking. With every insistent pound of my heart, the word 'student' reverberated in my brain, and it was so _wrong…_ I honestly tried to force myself to kiss her. To give in and not think and taste—Oh, God, to taste her—my sweet Sara.

But I couldn't. I waited a moment longer, engaging all of my self-control to keep me there, hoping she would take the step that I couldn't and help me overthrow my damned conscience, but she didn't, and then I couldn't hold out anymore. My conscience, which seemed to always have my mother's voice, was demanding I back away, and I did. I could see the disappointment and found myself ashamed that I had mislead her… that I'd put her in this position at all… that I had ruined what had been such a fulfilling teacher-student relationship prior to this. I found myself explaining, hoping for her forgiveness… her understanding. I did not hope for her to argue with me and I certainly didn't expect it, but she did.

"Sara, I… I'm really sorry. I don't… I don't know what came over me. I… You're… I'm sorry. I know you're a student and that this is… so inappropriate. I…"

She sighed. "It isn't inappropriate."

"I… what?" I blinked in confusion, and she shook her head, moving close to me again.

"…If you'd just met me in the bar a few weeks ago, instead of in your class… would you still have wanted to kiss me?"

I had no real answer to that, except an emphatic _yes_, which I didn't think would be the right choice just now. "I… Well, I—It's completely different. You're a student and you're… you're young and—"

I lost my train of thought as she came close enough for me to feel the tease of her young body just barely brushing me, lips achingly close. "I'm not so young. I'm… old enough to be legal." That sent a throb through me and I shivered, hoping she was not so close that she could feel it. She moved again, closer still, and I fisted my hands to keep them from clinging to her hips and dragging them closer to me. Her breath feel against my ear when she spoke again. "And it's a valid point. …A kiss would only be… inappropriate… if the basis of my appeal is that I'm your student. If it's about me… then I don't see the problem. I would never expect my grades to change… never expect special treatment. …If it's just about me, then this is all just… biology."

I shuddered again. The word biology implied lack of emotion and regardless of that not being true—not true at all—the picture it put in my head was one of wild, abandoned, best-sex-of-my-life with the hottest young thing I had ever seen. The vision was raw and animalistic and I shook my head to clear it, thinking that maybe I was not coming back to myself as much as I had thought. A statistic ran through my head at the rate at which alcohol enters the blood stream, even after one has stopped drinking, and I wondered if I were more or less drunk now than when I'd left the bar. I tried to count drinks in my head and place times to them, but found it impossible. I tried to argue with her instead, but really only because the drink-counting had failed. God, she was close to me.

"I… No, it's not just… biology. It's… nothing is that simple…"

I felt the wet swipe of her tongue against the lobe of my ear and I was falling and failing and so fucking willing to let myself have her even before her teeth captured that same tingly spot and sent a delicious shiver of pain through the delirium of pleasure. I groaned aloud, unable to even feel embarrassed of that fact, and her hands moving over me, into my curls, turning me to kiss her. I caught her hips, ready to grind my absolutely painful erection into her soft, supple, receptive little frame and make her scream my name… when my mom's voice—my conscience—came again, more forcefully.

A student could not be consensual. Non-consensual meant rape. How many sobbing rape victims had I seen? Worse than that… I had actually had to process one a few months before I came to Boston, as we didn't have a female CSI coming on duty for several days. We'd had her pick among us who she found the least threatening and I'd tried to move slowly and speak softly and only look at the specific area of her body I was taking evidence from… but she still shook in fear the entire time, tears coursing silently down her cheeks as she closed her eyes and tried to separate mind from body. Her eyes were filling my thoughts then, wide and frightened, and my hands were flexing—grasping and releasing—Sara's hips as my own mind and body fought it out.

Mind conceded, briefly, that I had already tried to argue… that Sara wanted this… that telling her she was a student would do me no good and I was fighting a losing battle anyway. I throbbed again, in victory, bending closer, and the eyes in my head changed from blue to Sara's deep, rich, gold-flecked brown, and I blurted out the only other excuse I could think of… the only thing I thought gave me a chance in hell of her backing off. The only thing that would make her stop tempting me… because it was a losing battle and I would give in. I knew that.

"I have a girlfriend."

Her immediate reaction was exactly as I expected: her eyes widened in surprise and betrayal and she moved her head further from me, finally taking a full step back from me, her face scrunched in confusion. She looked hurt and uncertain and I wanted to draw her into my arms and take it back, but I couldn't. Distantly, I felt a bit of guilt over Allison, but it was muted and easily pushed aside. Sara, on the other hand, had crossed her arms in front of her and was eyeing me with a depth of perusal I wasn't sure I'd seen from her before, which was certainly saying something.

It was a long, painful moment before she spoke.

"…Are you in love with her?"

I blinked. "…What?" It wasn't that I was unwilling to tell her that I wasn't—it was just that I didn't understand how my answer would impact our situation at all.

"…Do you love her? If I weren't a student and we were standing here, side by side, would you choose her?"

I frowned. …Was she saying she didn't care? No. No, she was telling me that I should break up with Allison and be with her. Understanding dawned, and I spoke the words I knew I had to to send her away. "I'm not breaking up with her."

"…But do you tell her that you love her?" Her voice was lower now, holding in it something I didn't want to examine straight on.

I scowled impatiently at my body's continued reaction to her and finally let a little bit of my pent up emotion and pent frustration leak out. "No. No, I don't love her, Sara, but I told you that—" She had already bridged the gap between us and clung to the collar of my jacket, fingernails pressing into the leather, looking up at me earnestly.

"Then I don't care. …Kiss me, please?"

And I wanted to, absolutely, but… but…

Why on earth would a nineteen year old girl choose to be the "other woman" to her professor? …I mean, school-girl crushes or even genuine affection for a teacher, maybe… but weren't young girls supposed to be full of principles? All the girls I'd known in college had high and mighty ideas about relationships and sex that more often than not weren't remotely realistic. Every casual date had to be a prince charming, sweeping her off her feet. Nothing in the world—not academics nor fetal pigs nor trips to body farms—could come before them. …Why didn't Sara hold those same foolish notions about love?

I couldn't fully flush out the concept—analyze her reasons—in the moment. I was admittedly foggy with alcohol and confusion and my own lust. …I just knew that it didn't sit right, and I shook my head, disentangling her from my jacket and taking a step back.

"I, ah… I'm really sorry Sara. It was never my intention to mislead you. …But this isn't what I want." She blinked in confusion, her head shaking slowly, and I could see that her eyes were glassy with the beginnings of tears.

She shook her head again, more a chosen action than an unconscious display of disbelief. "No. …You want me. I know you want me. I… I don't understand." She said, her face puckered and her voice breaking. "I know you want me." She repeated, more insistently.

I did want her, and my heart was breaking watching her, but I couldn't shake the feeling of something being so _wrong_ here. And so I shook my head too, gently, and gave her a sad smile. "No, honey. I don't. ...Let me walk you to your car."

Her eyes narrowed, and the tears brimmed and threatened to overflow, but her shoulders straightened and her chin lifted, her jaw set and strong. "No… I'm pretty sure I can find it all by myself. …Goodnight, Dr. Grissom." And she swept away from me, her walk haughty and brisk, never looking back.


	15. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, etc.

A/N: Sorry for the long delay between postings. I had papers and midterms and all kinds of crazy stuff due these last few weeks, and then on Thursday my puppy decided to eat staples, which only helped the situation. And, I had the chapter half-written and lost it when my computer inexplicably shut down for no reason, and I had to rewrite it all.

Hope you enjoy. Sorry again for the delay. Thank you so, so much for the reviews. They mean oh-so-much to me.

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Chapter Fourteen:

I drove home in silence, leaving the radio off. I parked. I locked my doors and unlocked the apartment, stepping inside. I slid out of my shoes. Then my clothes, leaving the heap by the door. I didn't realize where I was going until I found myself there, in Anni and I's shared bathroom, turning the shower knob all the way to the left and stepping under the spray. It was cold and then bitingly hot, and yet I wasn't sure either of those things registered. Not really.

If I hadn't known better, I would have described my reaction as having had a broken heart, but I did know better. I wasn't even lying to myself, the way I had when my first professor—my first lover—had unintentionally revealed to me that his intention had never been to leave his wife and kids. That had been heartbreak and I had denied it. This was different, and I knew that. But it was similar enough to have the muscles in my face twitching, trying to keep the tears at bay. I wanted Anni to come home, but I didn't want to have to tell her what happened.

An acute sense of shame swept over me at the idea of having to tell her—or anyone—that I'd been rejected, and the tears followed that emotion with a force that surprised me. By the time I heard the front door and Anni's voice calling "…Sara?" with a certain amount of amusement, I was thoroughly exhausted, slumped against the shower wall, limbs weak. I knew that the pile of clothes left at the doorway made it seem like I had Dr. Grissom here, wrapped up in some illicit tryst, and that I didn't made my chin quiver again. Like I hadn't cried enough.

I heard the stairs creak. I imagined her pausing in the hallway, listening to the shower run and wondering if I had him in here or if I were alone. I heard her move into her own room. I blinked wearily, remaining still, even as the water slowly turned from hot to warm.

By the time the water was spraying something chillier than lukewarm without being cold yet, Anni was knocking on the door between her room and the bathroom. "…Sara?"

I blinked again, feeling lethargic. The knock came again, more forcefully, the squeak of the knob telling me that she was checking to see if I'd locked it. "Sara? …Sara, I'm coming in." She waited just long enough for me to tell her no before the door burst open and the shower curtain slid aside. I tilted my head up, just enough to see her, and the press of her delicate eyebrows together told me that I looked like shit. Which, you know, could be expected. I was sitting in a bathtub with cold water raining down on me. I'm sure my skin was blotchy, my eyes and cheeks red with crying and stained black from my mascara. I could feel that my hair was a tangled, wet mess.

Without a word, she reached through the spray to turn the water off. As soon as it ceased, I felt both warmer and cooler. I blinked up at her again, and she held out the wet hand to help me up. It was more difficult than it should have been, but I had to admit that I did feel better when she'd wrapped a thick bathrobe around me—hers, mine was threadbare—with a towel tucked between it and my dripping hair. She led me in silence to her bedroom and into her bed. She was about to curl up with me when Todd entered downstairs, calling her name.

She disappeared for a few minutes and I stared at the green numbers glowing from her desk, displaying an incorrect time. Anni had to trick herself into believing she was later than she was in order to get up for school in the mornings. He was evidently shooed away because Anni returned alone and the house remained quiet. She slipped into bed with me, tugged me close, and held me with a tight kind of ferocity that had the waterworks moving again, dragging my lips along with them. I told her everything. Every shameful detail. And then she left again, returning more quickly—with Tequila and a couple shot glasses.

Anni was a really, really good friend.

Needless to say, I called in sick the next day. Eddie sounded suspicious, but took my explanation of stomach flu at face value and told me to get some rest.

Anni and I had our girls' night and went to the club.

It was dark and the music was loud and even feeling dehydrated and drained wasn't affecting the floating feeling that had begun to seep into me the second we walked through the doors—thanks to Tim-the-bouncer, who was in our group but generally found himself busy working when the rest of us were at The Lantern. Of course, he'd asked for IDs when we walked up—skipping the line entirely—but that was for appearance's sake. And now that we were in, they wouldn't card at all. It was crowded and hot and made me feel every inch of my skin, maybe because I was sweating or maybe because the music had my pulse racing beneath my skin.

Despite that awareness, I don't remember much. I remember Anni and I jumping into a group doing body shots, vividly. She sprawled herself across a table and with the kind of arrogance that comes from shocking others I bent over her lasciviously, licking salt from her stomach and downing the shot she had tucked into her cleavage and biting on the lime between her dark lips. Juices ran and we pulled apart, the lime falling to the floor and both of our tongues seeking out the little wet trails. We were aware of a great many eyes on us—appreciative in a way that we had come to know very well—and it inspired nothing short of exuberance as I took my turn. I didn't have the chest she did, but I was wearing the black leather skirt, which made up for it. Salt from stomach, shot perched between my upper thighs, and then lime in my mouth… Impulsively, I let the lime fall before she could grasp it in her teeth, though she must have expected as much, because she kissed me as though it had been our plan all along.

From that moment on, neither of us could move for most of the night without being offered a drink or asked to dance. And while our intentions had been mostly to be daring and dangerous and to say fuck you to social conventions, even if we weren't breaking them for the right reasons, this side effect was nothing short of delicious. …Which is part of the reason I can't remember everything. A _lot_ of guys bought me drinks. When possible, they would slide up between us, an arm slipping over each of our shoulders, and offer to buy us a drink. And, once satisfied that an order had been placed and that he had our attention at least that long, would find some way, tactful or no, to suggest a three way. We would tease them—a different argument each time. We'd never been with a man, we'd just been joking and had never been with a woman (this was true, but not the reason we said no), our last threesome partner had wanted a relationship, had had a heart attack when we went down on him together, had been unable to hold off long enough to please us both… etc. Which was beyond amusing, let me tell you.

But at some point, while dancing, someone said my name. We'd spent the night telling people our names were Muffin and Candy, but the man behind me sporting the erection I could feel even through my drunken haze breathed "Sara" into my ear. I wasn't thinking clearly, but it did occur to me that this was strange. I turned, and found Dr. Felton, far too old for this club, grinding himself into my ass like there was no tomorrow. My gut instinct was to recoil. To slap the bastard and run away. …But my responses were slow, and by the time my body had caught up to my mind—or was it my mind to my body?—I was aware that Dr. Grissom would never have done this. Dr. Grissom didn't want me, but Dr. Felton… Dr. Felton wanted me. That much was obvious. …He had a _lot_ of want for me.

And Dr. Felton's attentions were different from those of the average drunken college student trying to bang Anni and I together. …His attentions were solely for me, and not because I put on a big show in a bar, but because… well, I mean, not that he knew me… but he knew me better than these guys. And his approval was… different. In retrospect, I can pull out my inner psychologist and tell you that my experiences with my father made me seek out acceptance and validation from older men. But in the moment—in the unthinking, half-blind, drunken stupor of the moment—I just knew that I preferred his attentions to those from men my age, even if they inspired the urge to vomit as well.

So I let him grind himself against me, I let him put his hands on my stomach and his thumbs brush the bottom of my breasts like he thought he was getting away with something, and when it got late and he was poised to invite me home with him, at least half of me was considering saying yes. What would Dr. Grissom think of that? He'd certainly feel like an ass if he ever found out. And even if he didn't, it would be like an arsenal in my corner… his rejection couldn't mean anything, not really, because I knew what his denial had resulted in. I knew what he had missed out on because I would have given it to someone else.

But I didn't. Anni found me and dragged me off to meet someone and I told him I'd be right back, and then forgot about it. I don't even remember leaving NightLife, the club. I remember someone passing a joint around in a car in a parking lot—but not the night club's parking lot—and throwing up out the window before it got around to me. And then I remember stumbling, with Anni, clad in our ridiculously high heels, back home and passing out in the living room.

I dragged my ass into work on Sunday, but Eddie took one look at me and sent me back home. I hoped that I looked sick instead of hung over, but I couldn't be certain. Regardless, I welcomed the night off—if not the lost wages—and showered and fell into bed, sleeping for twelve hours.

I hadn't slept that much in a very long time, and it felt good, but it meant that I had to wake up and get ready for the day with little to no planning time as to what I was going to do about Dr. Grissom. It didn't even occur to me to worry about Dr. Felton, although when I stepped into his class I felt his eyes boring into me, wondering what I remembered no doubt. I felt a wave of nausea at that, and spent the hour ignoring him. Between Dr. Anderson's class and Dr. Grissom's class I had a lunch break and I went home to eat and to think and to most likely touch up my makeup and change into a push-up bra to give me cleavage. And yet, I couldn't decide if I was going to go.

My first thought was that I had to go. I had to pretend like nothing had happened and put on a strong front and show him that it didn't matter. That he didn't matter. That Friday night was forgotten and with it, him. But I didn't think I could go twenty minutes early and maintain an aloof and unconcerned throughout. But to simply arrive on time would be as bad as not going, except without the embarrassment of going. I didn't decide not to… I just put off making a decision either way until five minutes until class would start and there was no way I could make it on time. At which point, I rationalized, I couldn't go. Walking in late was the worst of the options I'd had.

A part of me was convinced that he would come looking for me. That he would bang on my door or show up at work that night, concerned and angry and, above all, repentant. That part of me was severally disappointed.

On Wednesday, I got all the way to class, twenty minutes early, determined to give a good excuse for having missed Monday and to seem entirely unaffected. I ended up going to the bathroom, nervous and shaking, and staying there until well after class would have started to leave, so that I wouldn't run into him in the hallway. Still, he did not appear in my life, demanding an explanation and a second chance.

It was on Friday that something happened, though it was not what I had wanted. I spent the entire day brooding over how, a week previous, I had had in my grasp just about everything I wanted and now I had nothing. I had been avoiding thinking about Dr. Grissom's class up to that point, but now Dr. Anderson was winding down his lecture and I would have to force myself to go, today, because we had a test on Monday and he was going over what would be on it and whatever fear was otherwise dominating me, the fear of ruining my perfect GPA took precedence.

I was packing up my bag as people filed out when my name reached my ears. "…Sara?" I glanced up. Dr. Anderson was eyeing me with concern. I pursed my lips and nodded, zipping up my backpack and moving over to stand by the podium at the bottom of the lecture bowl. He seemed to want to wait until everyone had left before speaking, so I stepped off to the side while he answered a couple questions and packed up his belongings. When the room had cleared, he turned soft eyes on me.

"I, ah… Is anything wrong, honey?"

Despite how kind and affectionate Dr. Anderson has been with me, his tone is still suspicious. He's walking on eggshells, and his hands are trembling just enough to betray him. "…What do you mean?" I ask, not wishing to give anything away until I know what he knows.

He clears his throat. "…Dr. Grissom spoke with me this morning. He's, uh… concerned." He paused, waiting for an explanation, and when I didn't give him one, choosing instead to stare at him wide eyed and uncertain, he continued. "He… he said that you've been in all his classes, except that you've missed two this week without any explanation. He asked if you've been in mine which, of course, you have been… and then expressed worry over this… behavior."

I cleared my throat, fingers flexing around the strap of the backpack over my shoulder. Trying to think of an explanation.

"…Did Dr. Grissom do something to… upset you, Sara?" I looked up at him in surprise, and he took a step closer, glancing around us and lowering his voice further. "…If there's a problem with grading or… something, I can talk to him. And… and if that problem with him is… most personal…" he glanced around himself again, before meeting my eyes with intensity, "Well… that's not something you should keep to yourself either, honey. I… I can help you."

I blinked in surprise, realizing he was asking me if Dr. Grissom had solicited me. I felt the spite I felt—the bitterness—boiling within me and for a moment I was poised to accuse him. The man was so fucking noble that he'd probably admit to it, take all the blame, just because something had almost happened. But I didn't. I don't know if it was my conscience reeling me in or just the realization that Dr. Grissom must have looked pretty guilty for Dr. Anderson to be asking this kind or question, but I shook my head and sighed. "No. …No, he hasn't… It's nothing like that."

Anderson eyed me for a moment, and then slowly nodded. "…Is there something else going on? Something I can help you with?"

I shook my head, feeling embarrassed. If I didn't have a good reason to miss, then I was just skipping. I knew that this would change the way he saw me… this man who had only ever had good opinions of me and who liked me and appreciated me without feeling the need to extend that into a relationship. The bitterness welled again, but I bit it back down, shaking my head more firmly. "I, um… There's just been some stuff in my life that has… overlapped… with his class. I should have talked to him about it but it's just… come up fast. I'll talk to Dr. Grissom about it today."

This seemed to reassure him, at least, and after another minute or so he let me go with a paternal smile that almost covered the worry still in his eyes. I smiled and waved and walked as though nothing was wrong in the world… right to Dr. Grissom's tiny guest professor's office, knocking on the door aggressively. Fuck subtlety. This kind of backhanded betrayal deserved nothing less than a full out confrontation. In the back of my mind, I recognized that perhaps I was letting my temper run away with me… but I also recognized that anger was driving me to action, whereas fear and embarrassment had driven me to inaction. And action was always preferable to remaining in stasis.

I heard papers set down, a desk chair squeak, feet on carpet, and then the door opened. He looked… like shit. He had bags under his eyes and his hair was rumpled, his clothes not wrinkled but not smooth exactly either, and his posture was stooped and tired. He looked at me in surprise, jaw dropped in silent shock, and I tossed my hair over my shoulder, letting my anger take over and relishing in the feeling of power that doing so sent rushing through my veins.

"We need to talk."


	16. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: I want to thank everyone for the amazing reviews. As always, you guys overwhelm me.

I also want to apologize for the delay in this-I ended up rewriting it, because I wasn't getting the office scene quite right. Thanks again to Pati for giving me some much-needed guidance. She was a life saver.

Hope you guys enjoy! Happy Halloween!

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Chapter Fifteen:

"We need to talk."

I drew in a deep breath, taking in her appearance with a bit of relief. She did not, in fact, look like she was falling apart or like she was afraid of me… which I was perhaps more afraid of; I had been inexcusably forward the week before. I had spent innumerable hours in the time that had passed between then and now, worried over what had happened. …Worried, perhaps, all the more because when I replayed the event in my mind, my impulse was not to correct the actions that had led up to… it. No, my gut reaction was to berate myself for not tasting the lips that had been so tantalizingly close to mine when I'd had the chance.

But, it was better this way. I repeated that to myself, seeing that she seemed largely unaffected, despite her absence in class all week. She tossed her head of silky, sinfully dark curls and fixed me with a defiant gaze and made her demand… and the only thing to do was to nod. "Come in."

She stepped forward before I had stepped back, putting her in much too close a proximity. And this was, perhaps, the first moment I realized she was angry. When I'd opened my office door, she'd turned an appraising gaze on me… but the stern look in her eyes and the arrogance in her posture spoke to finely suppressed rage. And when she invaded my space, it was not like in The Lantern a week before—welcome and sensual, if disconcerting—but confrontational. She was here to accuse me of something… and I had a pretty good idea what I was guilty of.

I stepped back decisively and waited for her to shut the door firmly behind her to address it. "Sara, about last Friday…"

"Don't."

I blinked in surprise, watching her gather herself, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides as if she were fighting for control. She tossed her chocolate mane again and sighed out loud. "I just… I'm trying to understand what on earth would possess you to try to sabotage me, academically."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she raised her eyebrows indignantly, silencing me despite myself. "…Let me just be candid about last Friday for a moment here. Because, for some reason—concern or some twisted sense of morality or, worse, guilt—you seem to feel like you are responsible for me, and you're not. Talking to Dr. Anderson doesn't help me—in fact, it puts my academic reputation into doubt, both as the student who skips classes and as the student who gets propositioned by her teacher. …Because that's how Dr. Anderson sees this. You do understand that, don't you? He all but asked me if you'd offered to sell me an A for the use of my body."

Heat swept over my face and my stomach rolled in discomfort. Oh, god. I hadn't anticipated that Tony would read my concern that way. I grit my teeth, feeling upset and defensive despite myself. Of course Sara had the right to be mad and I deserved every bit of it—I had crossed a line—but it was just a gut reaction to feeling attacked. She had to know that my intention had not been to cast doubt upon her or us. And something else was nagging at me, even though it shouldn't be. I didn't like her telling me that I was not, in fact, responsible for her. The extent of my concern for her this week… my attempts to ascertain her well-being through Tony without seeking her out and misleading her again… all of it centered around protecting her. I had been trying to minimize the fallout of my indiscretions.

I cleared my throat, uncomfortable, but she did not seem to share my discomfort—a fact that put me on edge. Her darkly colored lips spread into a smile that was not happy nor kind and I felt a jolt in my stomach like I'd just seen something raw and private and… dirty. I frowned at the feeling, despite the deep throb it sent through areas of my self that I would rather didn't react to Sara at all, much less to a smile like that. I set my own shoulders back in an attempt to appear as confident and as unaffected as she seemed. Something about her posture—about the way her eyes challenged mine and about the way her fists kept moving, trying to retain her calm… I was angry. I couldn't exactly explain why, but I was angry and I was… aroused. I didn't like the combination of the emotions—they had me reeling, and when she began speaking again, it took me several moments to catch up to what she was saying.

"…The fact of the matter, Dr. Grissom, is that you want me. We both know it. You've wanted me since the moment you met me, and I've watched your eyes watch me. And because you feel guilty for that—because you're too fucking noble to admit it—you think that getting Dr. Anderson to babysit me absolves you. It doesn't."

She handed me my condemnation with the grace and poise of a gothic heroine pronouncing some tragedy… some inevitability. And I railed against the inevitability. I felt my own shoulders set in response to her words. Monster or mistress or master seductress, it didn't matter, I _did_ want her. But the confrontation raised my hackles, set me on edge, made my heart beat just a bit more rapidly. Whether she was right or not, she had no right to force me to address it. She had no right to make accusations. Who was she, with her sensuous curls and dangerous eyes and predatory smile?

It came again—the smile—and I throbbed in reaction to it. Had I know that Sara had this dark side all along? My body responded to her like an old friend and I found myself intensely curious and so fucking angry. I wanted to wipe the smirk off her face with some well-chosen comment, though none popped to mind immediately. She seemed to sense my rage; the smirk grew, both in size and contempt, and then she shook her head.

"…Let me just make something unquestionably clear between us, Dr. Grissom..."

Her voice was soft, almost gentle, and yet the hairs on my arms stood up. I was being threatened. She hadn't gotten that far yet, but I knew. I raised an eyebrow in question, no longer attempting to force speech that would not come and which she would not allow anyway, letting her finish her tirade while I regulated my breathing. In and out, calm and slow.

"…If you _ever _try to come between Dr. Anderson and I… diminish his opinion of me… damage my relationship with… with the only man I've ever known who doesn't _want_ something from me… I promise you, you will regret it." I trembled with her threat—not from fear, but disbelieving anger. Young, innocent, little Sara Sidle thought she could storm into my office and issue commands like she had any right—any power—over me? I wanted to shake her. Shake some of that confidence from her. Feel soft, warm skin held firm beneath my palms and watch the haughtiness melt from her gaze. …I missed the Sara who watched me like she was memorizing everything I said. Missed the Sara who was desperate for _my_ approval, not Tony's.

"…Please don't mistake me or think I'm speaking in hyperbole—I will tell everyone everything you have or haven't done with me, I will embellish and lie and fabricate… and by the time I'm done with you, you will have nothing."

Silence loomed between us and I felt a desire rising in me to strike the girl before me. Not a desire I would ever act on, but it was present and alarming to even me. I was fully erect and pounding in my slacks and my fists were clenched white and I couldn't hear anything through the blood rushing in my ears. I was breathing heavily, trembling slightly—not from fear or nerves, but anger. And then I found myself to her, catching her by the shoulders. I slammed my lips down onto hers with a force I was unaccustomed to, backing her into my filing cabinet hard enough to cause her to whimper in pain. My tongue forced entry when her lips parted in protest, though she tried to deny it.

…By the time I was coming to my senses, in frightened disbelief of the gravity of my actions, she was responding. Fingers curled into the hair at my nape and red nails digging into the skin of my neck beneath it. Body—young, dangerous, sexy-as-hell body—pressed to mine and moving in ways that were anything but innocent. Tongue teasing mine expertly, quiet, silky moan sliding from her mouth to mine. I wanted to give in to it. To devour her and be devoured. I wanted to stop thinking and surrender… but I didn't. I pulled back after a long moment under the onslaught, dazed and uncertain… and met deep, dark, lust-filled eyes. Her mouth was open in surprise, her breathing rapid, and I watched her expression change from disbelief to satisfaction.

She smiled again—and though it was still not kind or happy, it held a wistful kind of hopefulness that only served to confuse me more. Completely at odds with the soft nature of her expression, she chuckled softly, disdainfully, shaking her head. She licked her lips slowly before reaching out and wiping at mine… ostensibly to remove the lipstick that was smeared around her lips and probably mine, red and accusing. "I, uh… I'll see you in class, Dr. Grissom." She murmured under her breath, in that deep, husky way she has, lips pursing seductively… and then she sauntered out, looking every bit as if she had gotten exactly what she wanted from me.

I watched her retreat, watched my door swing closed behind her, and yet couldn't move… couldn't slow my breathing… couldn't fully grasp what exactly had just happened between us. I moved, slow and deliberately, behind my desk to sink into my chair and let my head sink into my hands. Whatever line I had been so concerned about crossing a week previous, I had left far behind me. That line was inconsequential now and I…

I was absolutely fucked.

And I had started out doing so well. I mean, not that Friday was one of my most positive moments—in fact, I don't know if I've ever had a moment of so much weakness, at least in my adult life. But the fact of the matter had been that despite how very much I had wanted her, I had not kissed her. I had told her that I wasn't interested. I had let her walk away. I had resisted all urges to find her, whether by showing up at her apartment or The Lantern.

And it was not as though the urges were minor. I had had vivid dreams about the different scenarios in which I might find her again. Her answering her apartment door in the matching underwear set I'd accidentally glimpsed through her window, or, better yet, in a flimsy, filmy little nightgown that obscured only just enough to tease the imagination. I imagined taking her up against the wall in the alley behind the bar or having her sit on the bar, a leg on either side of me as I sat in a bar stool and buried my face between her legs. I thought about bending her over a table or laying her across a pool table or simply falling into her bed with her, soft and slow. And I tried to stop these… I took Nyquil by the fourth night it happened, trying to quash the dreams. The result was not, as I had hoped, sleeping too deeply to dream. No, it just meant that I didn't wake up until… completion. And then not only was I ashamed, but messy.

But even so… even if I could not quite justify my reaction to her… I had been beyond proud that I did not, in fact, seek her out. Even when she wasn't in class on Monday. I had sat in the classroom, watching the minutes tick down until class would start, rationalizing that of course she would not come early anymore. And that it was a good thing that she wouldn't—because despite how very much I was looking forward to seeing her after the weekend from hell, it would be awkward and uncomfortable and it was probably better if we just avoided each other outside of class entirely.

She didn't come, and I purchased the Nyquil, knowing that my mind would be in overdrive that night.

Tuesday night my goal was simply to stay awake as long as humanly possible—sure, I would be exhausted the next day, but I would probably sleep dreamlessly. The result, of course, was that I was awake when Allison called… and, having nothing to do, decided it was high time I stopped avoiding her and faced my indiscretions. I could hardly stay with her when my mind was full of Sara, even if I couldn't have Sara either. It did not go… as I expected. She made it far easier (and perhaps far harder) than I had imagined. After the initial how-are-you's and her inquiring over how I was feeling, as Friday I had lied and said I was sick to avoid her, there had been a slight pause.

At my soft sigh of "…Allison…" she had chuckled.

"You met someone."

I cleared my throat. "I, uh… I'm not… …Yes."

She chuckled again. "You're not very sneaky, Gil."

I frowned and tapped my foot impatiently, uncertainly. "I, I… I'm sorry, Allison."

"Oh, don't be. I mean, am I a little disappointed? Of course. But… we were in a tough situation and we both knew something like this could happen. So, no hard feelings."

"…Really?"

She laughed openly, a reassuring sound. "Really, Gil. …So, are you going to tell me about this woman who has stolen your away from me?"

"Oh, no. It's not… We haven't… I wouldn't…"

She laughed again. "Calm down. I'm not accusing you of cheating. Just curious, that's all."

"I, uh…" I contemplating telling the truth for only a moment and only then because I felt so guilty and I still hadn't quite broken the habit of confessing when I felt guilty. "I don't think anything will happen between us. She's a… fellow teacher and dating is… frowned upon."

She laughed again, and I could see her shaking her head. "That's silly, Gil. She clearly means a great deal to you—I can hear it in your voice. Don't let rules stand in your way…"

I ended the phone call shortly after, telling myself repeatedly that her response would have been dramatically different had she know the truth. Rules, in this situation, were there for a reason.

Despite the slight ease to my conscience this detail gave me, I still felt overwhelmingly guilty on Wednesday and found myself hoping that she wouldn't show up—exhausting myself the night before had served to make the dreams less clear, but they were still clear enough to haunt me. …But when I got my wish and she did not show up, I started worrying. Missing one class due to an encounter like the one we had seemed natural—expected, almost—but two for Sara Sidle was… extremely out of character. I worried that something had happened to her. …I worried that she was so angry with me that she would never come to class again. I was worried that my harmful actions, even incomplete, had so severally damaged her that she was, indeed, the shuddering mass of insecurity and fear that I had imagined that night when I likened her to a rape victim. It gnawed at me, all consuming, which, at the very least, stopped the sex dreams.

No, I spent Wednesday night imagining my young, prodigious co-ed sobbing and trembling and cowering away from even the most innocuous of touches. I hardly slept but when I did, the images only became more vivid—Sara afraid and uncertain, her sweet, innocent features contorted and accusing.

I snorted to myself, now, at the thought. I wasn't sure exactly what to think of Sara after the encounter in my office… but I did know that she was not as innocent as I'd imagined. Although, I also had to admit that she had not necessarily purported herself to be—I had assumed that because I had been relatively innocent at her age, then she must be as well. And I also had to admit, after said encounter, that I had known she was not so innocent—had I really been all that surprised at her words? At the dark side that she allowed me glimpse, hand-in-hand with those tiny shreds of vulnerability. …What had she said about Tony? _The only man who doesn't want something from her._ I wanted to argue that I didn't either, but that was an absolute lie and I knew it.

A glance at the clock told me I needed to gather my things and head to class, and that she would hopefully be there. I wished I could find some way—some way that did not imply that I wanted to repeat our foray against my filing cabinet—that I had not intended to harm her in any way when I'd talked to Tony. It had not occurred to me that he would read so much into it, nor that his opinion was so important to her that a couple missed classes would be the end of the world to her. I had been genuinely concerned, thinking I had harmed her beyond all repair. Despite her overwhelming anger and the fire of her response less than an hour before, I had to confess that my primary emotion—behind shame for what I'd done—was relief. Angry and indignant and accusing though she might have been, she had looked… healthy. Strong, confident, beautiful. Nothing like my imaginings.

I trudged to class, stopping in a bathroom to be certain there was no lipstick on my face to give me away, and thankfully Sara did not appear until about a minute before class began. We had a test on Monday which meant that class went by pretty easily. I had handed out study guides on Wednesday and, other than handing Sara one without meeting her eyes, no real interaction was necessary. I asked people if there was anything on the guide they wanted me to explain and told them what the format of the test would be, and otherwise just fielded questions. Sara sat silent, reading over her study guide while I answered her classmates' questions—questions she could have answered in her sleep. And when the hour it up, I turned my back to the class to pack up my things, fully expecting her to take the opportunity to slip out and let today become something we just didn't talk about—awkward and inappropriate and harmful to both of us if word should ever get out.

I didn't have to turn around, once the last voices faded away, to know that she was still behind me. …I should have known I would not be so lucky. She had seemed more than pleased with herself when she'd left my office, and I supposed that couldn't be avoided forever. I finally turned around—she was grinning broadly, but again it lacked something. Warmth, I decided, with a pang of sadness. I sighed. "…We can't talk about this here."

She raised a delicate eyebrow and slid to her feet, swinging her backpack up onto her shoulder. "Then… I guess you'll have to take me to your place..."

I cringed—at this moment, I longed for the lonely existence I'd left behind in Minnesota.


	17. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Sorry for the long delay. Homework, the stomach flu, and a myriad of personal issues have come up to complicate an already busy schedule, but! I finally have this up. It's been playing in my head since I last posted, so I'm as happy as you guys are to get it up here. :) Thank you, thank you, thank you for the outpouring of support I received in the reviews. It means more than you guys can know.

Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Sixteen:

"Sara…" He said with a warning in his voice and I felt my arrogance falter. Despite the angry, desperate, arduous manner in which he'd kissed me less than two hours previous, he did not look like a man who'd jumped off any kind of ledge. Things had not changed between us—at least not in the manner I had assumed.

I cleared my throat. "Look, I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have teased you. I-It's a defense mechanism. I… don't really know, uh, what to do with… this."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. I flushed.

This involuntary action seemed to soften his gaze; he didn't look like he believed me, be he did at least appear to be postponing judgment. I eyed my feet and cursed myself for giving myself away. Had I responded to his kiss demurely… been surprised and uncertain and somehow seemed lost in the reality of our mutual desire… Instead, I had only succeeded in putting him more on edge.

He sighed. "Get your things, Sara." His voice was frustrated and yet dispassionate. He turned from me and began packing up his briefcase and I blinked in surprise. The snaps sounded loudly, moving me to replace my notebook and textbook into my backpack. When I looked up again, he had his coat slung over his arm and the case in hand. Our eyes met briefly and then he turned to the door and began walking, the expectation being that I would follow.

He led me to his car and silently we slid into the seats. Delight warred with uncertainty in my chest. Were we going to his home? Was I about to get what I'd wanted all along? …I glanced at his face from the side of my eye—No, he did not look like a man swept up in desire, nor like a man whose resolve had broken. I bit my bottom lip nervously. Where were we going then? And why?

Sooner than I expected, he pulled up outside an apartment building with outside access to each apartment and slid out, reaching into his backseat to retrieve his items. Stiffly, I gripped my backpack and stepped out. "What, uh… What are we doing?" I shifted my weight nervously and when his eyes met mine, they softened.

"We're going to talk about this. Come on." He turned, walking toward his building, and I could do nothing but follow.

He unlocked his door and held it open for me, allowing me to take the lead for the first time since we'd left his classroom. I moved inside, setting my bag by the door, trembling slightly. The apartment looked like he'd only just moved in—there were no boxes on the floor, but there were also no pictures on the wall or framed photographs on the end tables. The furnishings were Spartan, clean and white and linear. No throw pillows or blankets on the couch, no knick-knacks or bookends of interesting conversation-books on the glass-topped coffee table.

I jumped when Dr. Grissom closed the door behind me, and instantly berated myself for it. I tensed my shoulders and turned to face him, watching as he set first his briefcase and then his coat in the armchair closest to the door. He glanced up, met my eyes, and his jaw tensed. His hands slipped into his pockets, revealing his nervousness, and his eyes flickered away again.

"Do you want to sit down?"

I shook my head, swallowing. "I want to know what I'm doing here."

He swallowed too, fidgeting and letting his breath out in a rush. "This, uh… I'm not really good with…" A hand slid from his pocket up, through his curls, and then he met my eyes with a fixed determination. "Sara, I do want you. I do. But it doesn't matter, and you have to know that."

I looked into his eyes this time, rather than turning away, because I was surprised he'd been so direct. I saw how difficult this was for him—speaking openly—and realized that we were only here at all, having this conversation, because he had believed my renewed show of innocence and vulnerability. I slowly let my look of concentration crease with uncertainty and shook my head. I wasn't sure what needed to be said—what he wanted to hear and what might change his mind—so I stayed quiet, hoping he would feel the need to fill the silence.

After a moment, he did. "Don't… don't look like that. Please. I… Honey, you have to understand that this is about you. This isn't a rejection, it's a martyrdom."

I blinked in surprise, forgetting for a moment to look vulnerable and simply looking at him in confusion. "I don't… martyrdom?"

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Self-sacrifice. Do you think opportunities like this come along every day for a man like me?"

I managed a watery smile, thinking of the blind women who couldn't see him behind his large glasses and distant exterior. "But I… I want you too. It's a pointless sacrifice."

He gave me a frown, but it was creased through with sympathy—not pity, just deep understanding—and shook his head slowly. His hands came up to my shoulders, moving gently down my arms to my elbows and back up again in soothing strokes. "Maybe it feels that way. …God knows I'd like it to be that way. But you're a student, honey. Our power relationship makes a consensual relationship impossible… even if you don't feel like that's the way it is, it is. …I couldn't do that to you. Don't you know how much better you are than that?"

I felt my chin tremble, though I was absolutely confused as to why. I mean… Well, I mean, I had basically made of rule of keeping the sweet talk out of my relationships, after the first one had wreaked so much havoc on me. It had been a long time since a man had spoken to me this softly. Of course it would throw me, a little.

I shook my head anyway, not arguing my worth, but his assertions, but he nodded and caught my shoulders more firmly. "Oh honey, you are. In another time and place… professionals in the field, maybe, working in a lab together… We could be amazing. I know why you're upset, or at least, I think I do. …This feels like it could be…" He sighed, "But the circumstances are all wrong. Sometimes life is like that."

I frowned, disliking his lecture, but knowing better than to argue too vehemently again. If he believed me to be a woman who knew absolutely what she wanted from him, his sympathy went out the window… but if I was a girl who was overwhelmed with emotions she wasn't sure she entirely understood… Well, playing that angle had gotten me into his home, hadn't it? I bit my bottom lip in what I felt was a demure fashion and looking up at him through my eyelashes. "I… wouldn't tell on you."

He chuffed a laugh, more out of surprise than amusement, and squeezed my shoulders affectionately. "No, honey, I know. Sara… Sara." The second call came firmly, causing me to look up at him. His deep blue eyes held mine and I felt my chest constricting slightly in anticipation—Oh, how I wanted him. "Listen to me, sweetheart. We're not equals. Not in the truest sense. I'm your teacher. …How could I ever be sure of what you wanted? How could you be? How could we know that you weren't merely trying to live up to an ideal you believed I wanted…? How could I know that I wasn't unintentionally giving you that ideal? …I could never do that to you, okay?"

I felt my chin trembling again and with uncertainty I became aware that tears were welling up. I blinked and shook my head. "But…" I swallowed over the tremble in my voice, trying to block out the comparisons he had put into my head without realizing it. The first teacher—the only one that had hurt—who had spoken gently and whispered love across the skin of places that no man had ever seen, let alone kissed. Dr. Grissom hadn't used those words—the words I ignored—the promises, the declarations of love… but my first had never given a thought to the power dynamic. And it was a much more weighty argument then, regarding a relationship between a forty-five year old married man and a sixteen year old virgin. The others hadn't mattered so much, because I had learned my lesson with the first, but it was still true—no matter their words, they had never cared enough about me to deny themselves.

It wasn't until I felt myself pressed against his chest that I realized my face was wet with falling tears and that it was no longer just my chin trembling—my shoulders were shaking, whether with suppressed sobs or just overwhelming emotion, I didn't know. His arms were tightly around me and ever-so-gently a hand moved up to press to the back of my head, guiding me to lean against him. I smothered a sob that threatened, pressing my lips tightly together to contain it, and tried to decide if I wanted to throw Dr. Grissom down and have my way with him or simply break away from him and run out the front door. Car or no, there was a part of me that could not stand the open vulnerability I was offering him. I tried to pull back, to free my arms, so I could wipe at my face, and then his palms were cupping my face and calloused thumbs were dragging the moisture from my cheek bones. I was quite certain that no one had done anything like that for me since I'd been very, very small.

I felt very, very small, just then.

He hummed softly, a warm and comforting sound, and kept me against him. I didn't know what he was thinking, how he'd explained my outburst to himself, whether he believed that I was crying simply because he had said I couldn't have him. I felt my inner-self sneer at the arrogance of such an assumption, but a softer part of me protested. I had cried when he'd rejected me, the first night. And what had he said? Or, rather, not said? 'This feels like it could be…' powerful. He hadn't said it, but the look in his eyes had told me as much. In fact, was I so certain that I was crying over what my first lover hadn't done? …Maybe I was crying over what Dr. Grissom had done.

He pulled back just enough to see my face, and gently wiped at my tears again, obviously pleased that no new ones were replacing them. "I know, honey." He murmured, his voice soft and delicate, like a whisper or a caress. "I… shouldn't say this, but we've already crossed the line, haven't we?" I blinked, feeling the tears still matted in my eyelashes, but nodded. A smile ghosted over his lips. "I know that what we're doing is right. …I know that this is the way it has to be. But I regret it. I feel like you have to know that. …That if I could justify having it any other way, I would. You believe that, don't you?"

That soft, whispery voice had me feeling weak-kneed in a way that was less about lust and more about the sincerity being all encompassing. I trembled with the truth of his words, and nodded as best I could despite that. After a long look in my eyes, he nodded too, and then his hands came to my face again, tilting me up to look at him. Despite myself, my breathing picked up. It felt like he was going to kiss me. It made no sense for him to do so, but I was yearning for him in a way so deep that I wasn't sure I fully understood it. When his head bent down, my eyelids fluttered. Sure, if he kissed me, it might negate all he'd said… but then, I'd be getting what I wanted, wouldn't I? And I couldn't deny that I wanted it… I was gravitating towards him like he was my sun.

When his lips brushed against me, my eyes did close—the intensity was so strong that I had no other choice, even if his lips were pressed to skin instead of mouth. I could feel the slight quirk of a sad smile in the corner of his mouth as it brushed against the corner of mine, but there was no fire in it—feeling, yes, but fire, no. I let out a shaky breath when he pulled away, not knowing what to do with myself, but he didn't seem to be expecting anything. He wrapped me into another soft, warm, affectionate hug and when we pulled apart, asked if I wanted a ride back to my car right away. I didn't, exactly… I kind of wanted to stay in his home, taking in the details, explore the man and his abode… but it was clear that he was trying to direct back into our traditional roles.

No matter what happened, I was not willing to go back to being a nameless, faceless student to him. I couldn't make sense of anything right now, but I knew that as strongly as one can know anything. "Did you, uh… want to grab lunch tomorrow?"

He looked at me in surprise, and then shook his head. "Sara…"

"No. I mean…" I blushed, getting flustered, but he seemed to appreciate the blush and quirked a smile. A little of my confidence seeped back in. "Not as a… date. I just… want to see you." I didn't mean for my voice to be meek, but it was, and he quirked another sad smile.

"You work tonight?" I nodded, and so did he. "I'll come in at some point and we can… talk about it."

I got the feeling that he wanted to get out of the privacy of his home and the closeness of our embrace, which we still hadn't stepped back from, and though I didn't want to give him that relief, I felt myself nodding again and letting him steer me back towards his door to collect my backpack and get a ride back to my car. I had learned that although Dr. Grissom was a man who could be pushed to a breaking point, he didn't necessarily remain broken. It would be no good pushing the issue… and at least I knew for sure that I would get to see him again. The car ride was silent, me embarrassed of my tears and he sitting strong and quiet and unreadable. I was ready to jump out of his car without a word once he'd brought me to mine, but before he had fully slowed, his hand had caught mine, preventing me. …Apparently he had expected my actions.

I glanced at him uncertainly, once again flushing without having any desire to do so. Did his eyes have to be so unbearably blue? My heart thudded and his palm contracted, squeezing mine gently, before releasing. …It wasn't maybe what I was hoping for, but it was better than a silent retreat, and I offered him a smile before I climbed out and then into my own vehicle, which had been functioning just fine since he'd… done whatever it was he'd done to fix it. He waited a moment, but when the car started he gave me a wave and drove away… and I exhaled in a rush, pulse thundering. I wasn't sure why I felt so tightly wound—so stressed—but I did know that I was a little relieved to be out of his presence.

I backed out of my parking spot, hoping that Anni might have chosen today to skip class and that I would get a chance to talk to her before work. I needed help.


	18. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Haha! I win! :) Hope you guys enjoy. Sorry for the long delay. Thanks for the reviews! I'll try to keep the updates more frequent!

Enjoy!

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Chapter Seventeen:

The Lantern was not nearly as busy tonight as it had been a week before, which troubled me. I didn't seat myself at the bar, wanting to avoid Eddie, who I suspected already didn't like me spending time with Sara, though I wasn't sure exactly where that impression came from. And I wasn't sure if it was protective of possessive, but regardless, I avoided him. I sat back in the booths, but all the way down from the group I now recognized as her friends—apparently a permanent fixture here. I wanted to be in her section, which I assumed was up here, and I wanted to be out-of-the-way, which this was, but I didn't want to be so close to them as to make her uncomfortable. Or, myself, really.

Being around them reminded me of how young and innocent Sara truly was, despite the moments of… wickedness… I had witnessed. She had explained one of them—her lascivious comment in the classroom had been a result of nerves, which I could legitimately see. Of course my… attack… on her in my office might put her in an awkward position. And it made much more sense to believe that Sara's unwavering confidence and the look of satisfaction she wore when she left were a front rather than who she truly was. Because the Sara I knew was sweet and a little shy—though never about her academic opinions—and though probably not a virgin, especially considering the way she occasionally dressed and the sexy undergarments I had accidentally glimpsed through her window that day, she did not strike me as a woman prone to being aggressive in seeking out her own pleasure. For all her swagger, she seemed kind of… submissive. Like her behavior was a lie or… or an act she put on because she thought it was what was wanted of her, rather than because of who she was.

"Hi… Jameson?" I glanced up, seeing Sara looking calm and collected, though her eyes told me she was nervous again. I made a mental note to stop taking her behavior at face value… to get to the bottom of who exactly she was, on the inside.

"No, no whiskey tonight." I smiled, and a little bit of color rose in her cheeks. "How about a beer and… You guys serve some food, don't you?"

"Oh, sure. Yeah." She stretched her long body across the booth's table, catching a little fold out menu from the far end with just the tips of two fingers. I swallowed heavily, having been privy to this action in a most intimate fashion. She really was all long lines and gentle, sloping curves. I was rock hard under the table. She passed it to me, and then bit her lip. "I, uh… I didn't think you'd really come, tonight."

I looked up at her. She was shifting her weight from foot to foot, another tell, and her face, though trying to seem nonchalant, was begging for a little reassurance. Which was only natural. I'd thrown her against a file cabinet and kissed her in a way I was not certain I'd ever kissed anyone, and then made her cry while telling her that nothing could happen between us. I knew who held the power between the two of us, and it was obvious that my actions would throw her for a loop. I reached out and squeezed her hand, and when surprised eyes finally met mine, I smiled. "I said I would come, and I did. I won't ever lie to you, Sara."

She smiled, awkwardly, and then the sound of a crash from the kitchen—distant but ominous—seemed to snap her back to herself. She cleared her throat, pulled her hand from mine, and glanced at the grease-stained menu. "It's um… it's mostly drunk food, but…"

"No, that's fine. I'm planning on staying a while anyway, so it gives me something to do while you're checking your other tables. …Nachos and fries?"

Her smile this time was larger, a little closer to the beam I'd seen on other occasions. "Okay. And a beer? Any preference?"

"Bud light?"

"Okay… I'll be right back with that." She turned and walked away, still smiling, and I forced myself to eye the menu again, rather than watching her slim hips as they moved away from me. By the time she returned, I had talked down my erection and was able to give her a smile when she slid into my booth.

"Do you mind? It's slow and I'm kind of avoiding my friends right now…"

"Of course not. …Why are you avoiding them?" I asked, placing a fry into my mouth.

"Oh, Stacey's just being a drama queen." At my raised eyebrow, she sighed and launched into an explanation I'm not certain even she knew she was about to give. "Well, okay, she and Derek are friends-with-benefits which never bothered her while she had guys on the side, but the last couple weeks her regulars have been out of town or busy and so now she's acting like Derek is cheating on her and she's trying to make every one side with her and it's just gotten…"

Color filled her cheeks again, and I smirked. "And, uh… 'Friends-with-Benefits'… Does that mean what I think it means?"

She looked away from me. "Yeah. …I'm sorry, Dr. Grissom, I just—"

"Hey." I caught her hand again. "Don't… don't be sorry. I want to hear about you. Your life. That's why I asked. I didn't expect an eighteen year old drama queen's problems to center around the conflict in the Middle East or the latest issue of Forensic Science Today." She chuckled at that, and tried to pull her hand away, but I kept it. "I… I want to be clear about something, Sara. I… I can't be with you the way I think you want me to be."

Her eyes and smile immediately dropped, and she nodded. "I know. You told me that today. I… I'm not—"

"No, I know. I know. I just… I want to make sure I'm not sending any mixed signals here, okay? You are a bright, beautiful girl and I would love to get to know you, if you'll let me… but we both have to know that there's a line we can't cross, okay?"

She glanced up at me through a layer of thick, dark lashes. "…Okay."

I smiled and squeezed her hand before releasing it. "Great. Then I would love to have lunch with you, tomorrow, if you would still like to."

She blinked in a little bit of surprise, and nodded. "Yeah. I… Yeah. Of course. Um, did you… want to meet somewhere or…"

"You're the local. You tell me where to go, and I'll be there."

This time I got the big smile I wanted, and felt good about placing a large tip on the table and leaving about twenty minutes later, once I'd finished my food and beer and left her to tend to her tables and manage the drama queen. A single glance told me who she was—I mean, yeah, she was the only girl at the table who I hadn't already identified as Anni from the last time I'd come here, but she also had the look of someone trying to stir up trouble on her own behalf. I was laughing as I left the bar.

Sara was at her restaurant of choice before I was—as soon as I stepped in, I saw her waving to gain at a little table in the back, by a window. Not that "the back" was very far from the front. We were in a tiny little Irish Pub right on the harbor, and we were more or less alone in the place, though it was only 11:00—a little early for a lunch rush. I smiled as I sat down.

She looked… beautiful, but I didn't say that. We were… friends, maybe, if you could call it that, and I wasn't going to make this like a date. After all, she looked like she had tried to keep it casual too—her shirt was a very nice button shirt that looked silky enough to make my fingers twitch with longing, but she was in jeans and had the blue coat I'd seen several times before this slung over the back of her chair. Her hair was down and curly, but did not look like she'd taken an exorbitant amount of time on it. Which was good. I picked up my menu and glanced down at it. "Any recommendations?"

She spoke up without hesitation. "The crab cakes. Best you'll find in town. Although, if you want to get something else for a meal, they have them as an appetizer too…"

She fell back into silence, and I frowned. I had spent the night trying to define what this would be, between us. Maybe after I was done with my guest professor-ship, we could keep in touch. Be pen-pals, exchange occasional phone calls… change our relationship to one a little more… equal. And then, maybe, I could visit her and take her on a real date. …The prospect of a relationship with Sara Sidle that would not harm her… where I could desire her without having to admonish myself… well, it encouraged thoughts that I _did_ have to admonish myself for, but it also brightened my mood. I set down my menu and fixed her with a smile that said we were not going to feel awkward about what was or wasn't between us.

"So… What happened with the drama queen? Stacey?"

She looked surprised, but she smiled, taking a drink of her water and setting down her menu as well. "Oh, nothing. She mostly threw a tantrum all night, killed everyone's buzz, and then let Derek take her home anyway. But as far as I know he hasn't agreed to stop seeing anyone else, so we'll see what happens."

I gave her a bewildered smile. "Is this… Friends-with-Benefits thing… common?" At her raised eyebrow, I felt the need to equivocate. "I, ah… Even when I was in college, I had a pretty small group of friends… It's kind of a new concept to me. You know, it would make a pretty interesting modern anthropological or sociological study. Is it a divergent trend in our culture, a deviant behavior? And do the people who partake legitimately feel nothing but friendship, or is it a means of self-deception on the part of one and a means of using someone without guilt on the part of the other?"

She watched me with wide eyes for a long second, and then she snorted. "You're so full of shit." I blinked in surprise, and though her smile faltered, she kept on with that air of unrelenting confidence. "You asked because you wanted to know if _I_ had a friend-with-benefits, but you didn't feel like you could ask. …And then you covered it up with the skill of someone who has aced a lot of essay tests without studying…"

Her face was a challenge, defiant, and though I wasn't sure I'd ever not studied for a test, I nodded. "…Sorry."

She laughed, and it sent a thrill down my spine. "Don't be. I mean, it's not like we haven't already admitted… how we feel. Right?" At my nod, she nodded too. "Right. So, I mean… it's natural. You can ask. …We're…getting to know each other, after all." At my reluctant face, she laughed. "Okay. I'll volunteer the information. I don't have a boyfriend, nor do I have a friend-with-benefits."

She laughed again when she caught the look of relief on my features, and then a waitress had finally reached us. "So sorry about the delay. Can I start you two off with anything to drink?"

We ordered food and drinks, including a crab cake appetizer, and in the slight lull, I asked Sara about school. And somehow, that carried us not only through our meal, but through a chilly walk on the beach and into a conversation about Halloween, which was just under a month away, now. When we parted ways, it was with a sheepish hug and then an awkward wave… but when I called her the next day to see a movie with me, it was less so. And if I expected Sara to act differently in class, I was pleasantly surprised that she seemed almost less interested in me now that we were… doing whatever we were doing… outside of class. She came in, gave me a distant smile, and focused on studying her notes for the twenty minutes prior to class. And her test was flawless—absolutely every answer correct. She was giving me no reasons to feel strange about our relationship.

She didn't call that night, and I wasn't sure if she was waiting for me or if she wanted some space. Or if she was working, like always. So I waited, and she called me on Tuesday night, on her break from work, just saying she wanted to talk. And when she had to go back to work, on impulse, I commented that I wished she had more time. …Which is how she came to call me when she got home, just after one a.m. …She woke me up, but I couldn't bring myself to be upset.


	19. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: So sorry for the long delay. I know it's been forever, but real life has been unbelievably busy and kinda rough so... Anyway, I just wanted to thank everyone for sticking with me and with this story, even though I don't post as often as I did with other stories. 3 It means the world.

Also, I want to thank Pati, once again, for the insight and help and for being so much more than a Beta. 3

Enjoy! And review!

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Chapter Eighteen:

"A priest?"

He gave me a long-suffering look. "Forgive me, but there just aren't all that many costumes for adult men. If I had it my way I'd go as Spider Man, but…"

I snorted a laugh. "You should! That'd be hilarious!" And there was the long-suffering look again. I felt my smile soften. "Okay, fine, but… I mean, there _are_ adult costumes better than a priest. …Axe murderer?"

He cringed and shook his head. "It hits a little too close to home…"

"Oh. Right." I frowned. "Well… you have to think of something!"

He rolled his eyes, passing me the bag of popcorn. I took a handful. After a long moment, he shook his head. "I don't know why I need to dress up anyway. I mean, I don't really think I'd wear my costume to class. As far as I know none of the other teachers are having any kind of party… Why bother?"

I looked at him in surprise. "Well, you're coming to Anni and I's party, aren't you? …I've been talking about it for weeks."

He blinked at me. "No, I… I guess I didn't really realize you expected me to. I… Do you really think that's… appropriate?"

I gave him a sidelong glance. "…More inappropriate than seeing a movie with me?"

He shook his head. "Sitting in a mostly empty theatre, far away from campus…? Far less of a chance that people will see and… misinterpret. I can't go to a party crowded with students."

"Oh." I narrowed my eyebrows. "…So… wear a costume."

He stared at me for a long moment, and then started laughing. Loudly. The lights went down before he stopped, but it made me feel good, even if I didn't necessarily understand why.

Even though we had gone to our share of movies in the two, almost three, weeks since the day we'd met for lunch and walked along the beach, testing out whether friendship between us was even possible, the dimming lights never failed to make me shiver beside him. I had spent the entire first movie shifting awkwardly in my seat, willing him to slide an arm around me or put his hand on my thigh. Thankfully (or perhaps not), I now knew him well enough to know that he would do no such thing. The episode in his office only occurred because I had pushed him so far and attacked him so blatantly. It was not a state that could be maintained. The realization meant I was less on-edge around him, but it also meant that I couldn't keep up the same tactics.

No—being Sara Sidle, sexy and dangerous, was not a winning path. He wanted to believe that I was sweet and, if not innocent, certainly not experienced. He wanted to think I was mature for my age, but otherwise just like every other college student. And while I couldn't fall into that mold entirely and end up disregarded, I needed to stick close enough to it to not put him off. Instead, I became Sara Sidle, adorable co-ed. Which mostly meant that I censored myself, when giving opinions or talking about my own past, recent or otherwise. In everything else, I was fairly honest, and thus far it seemed to be working.

"That looks good." He said, leaning over just close enough to make my stomach tighten. "We should see that when it comes out." I glanced up, brought back to reality. It was a preview for some comedy. Which had surprised me in the beginning, his penchant for comedies—I thought he'd be all about dramas. I mean, not that he didn't enjoy those—but when he wanted something light, it was Christmas Vacation with Chevy Chase or, believe it or not, Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. …I know. I couldn't believe it either. He also had a few strange favorites that I wouldn't have picked for someone who initially came off as so serious; Ghost Busters, Back to the Future, The Big Chill, and some chick flick named Cousins that we'd hadn't seen yet, but he kept telling me I would love.

I turned my face just slightly, wanting him to feel the closeness too. "It looks kinda stupid…" My trademark response for any comedy he suggested. He shook his head and sighed, but a smile was curling his lips. I grinned. "So… are you coming?"

He sighed in the darkness. "No costume is going to disguise a teacher from a group of underage drinkers, Sara."

I grinned. "Wear a mask. And jeans. And a shirt without a collar. You'll be fine."

"A mask? What, am I going as Nixon?"

I snorted a laugh and turned to look at him fully, before snorting again and pressing my face against his shoulder, trying to stifle my laughter. He shook his head, and someone several rows behind us shushed us loudly. It was several minutes later that he leaned over again, even closer, so he could keep his voice lower. "…What are you going as?"

"Alannah Myles."

He turned his head more fully and his exhale fell across my neck, making my eyelids flutter. "Who?"

I glanced at him and smirked, attempting to regain composure. Even knowing nothing would happen, it was difficult to remain unaffected when I was this close to him in the dark. "Watch MTV once in a while. You're too young to act so old."

He glared playfully and elbowed me, inducing a giggle and another irritated "Shh!" from behind us. Seriously, the movie hadn't even started yet.

The subject fell away and, by the time we were walking out of the theatre, my thoughts were on the movie. We discussed it as we walked and then we reached our cars, smiled and gave a light hug—the kind you give to distant relatives you haven't seen in ten years, but still feel like you're obligated to embrace—and then separated for the night.

I meant to bring it up with him again, over the course of the week, but I had basically had to sell my soul to get my shifts taken for Halloween and the following day. I managed to get them covered, in bits and pieces, by about five different people, and thus had picked up five different sets of hours. I was working so much that I was doing homework in the time before Dr. Grissom's class and even when I called him at two in the morning, the conversations were… limited.

"Hey."

"Hey." He yawned sleepily. "How was work?"

"Busy. How was your day?"

"Good."

"Tell me about it…"

And he would launch into an explanation of something interesting he had read or a conversation he'd had with Dr. Anderson or a funny moment in a class… and though I fought as hard as I could to stay awake, I would almost invariably be asleep by the time he finished speaking. Dim memories told me that he was never very upset. He would call my name, gently, and sometimes I would answer—other times not—but it was always slurred and unclear. I would try to lift myself from the haze, but found myself wholly unsuccessful. Coupling this kind of exhaustion with the soothing calm that his voice provided was a failsafe cure for insomnia, though I still didn't really feel rested in the morning. I had muscles aching that I hadn't known existed.

It was with absolute relief that Halloween arrived. I took a nap right after school and Anni woke me when she got home from class. Surprisingly, the couple hours I'd gotten had done wonders, and I felt excited and ready to go. I called Grissom to insist that he buy a mask—any mask—and come to the party. He didn't answer, but I left a message and hoped.

Anni was going as Betty Boop. Which consisted of a tiny, strapless, backless, red dress, four inch red heels, and garters. We curled her hair in tight ringlets up against her head and she put on way too much make up. I, at least, would be far more comfortable tonight. The leather pants were tight, but not too tight, and I was actually very comfortable in the black tank top, the tops of a red, lacy bra peeking out. I borrowed Anni's bright red lipstick and let my curls out loose and wild. And, I had to admit, I was a pretty close fit to the actual singer. I mean, not identical… but close enough to be recognizable. Anni grinned.

"They are gonna be _all_ _over_ us tonight."

* * *

…There just weren't any dignified male costumes. And especially not with masks. I paced the aisles of the Halloween shop in agitation. Whatever I might say to Sara about boundaries and proprieties, I could not deny that I had spent several days agonizing over this stupid party and what she expected from me. I wanted to go. I wanted to spend time with Sara publicly, I wanted to see her around her friends, and—God, I didn't like to admit this—I wanted to see her a little tipsy. Not that I would take advantage of her; I would rather die than hurt her. But just… a little softer around the edges. Maybe a little quicker to laugh and a little slower to anger. I just wanted to see her a little more… honestly. Less guarded.

Because though Sara thought she was very subtle, there was no denying that she had been evasive about herself. Her family, her past, even most of what she'd done and who'd she'd been since she'd come to college. It was as if she'd just appeared out of a void on that first day of class.

I wanted to see something beyond Sara's mask.

It was with this burning desire most prominent in my mind that I finally snatched a generic black mask that would cover only from brow to cheek bone and a hooded black cape. I didn't know what I was going to be, but really, was anyone likely to ask me except Sara? No. And Sara would find it amusing that I didn't have the faintest idea what I was supposed to be, if nothing else.

I showered, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, and threw the mask and cape on, hoping that this wasn't a very, very big mistake. …And that I wasn't heading towards immeasurable embarrassment. I was actually moments from backing out when I saw that I had a message on my answering machine. …It was Sara, and she wanted me there. I knew the party would have been going for at least an hour by now, but I just… couldn't sit at home and imagine.

Especially not since I'd been flipping channels and, remembering Sara's words, stopped on MTV for five minutes of wondering whether Sara and I really had anything in common if this was what she thought I should be watching. Just before I changed the channel, however, a song started and the letters at the bottom of the screen informed me that the singer was Alannah Myles. The woman Sara was going as. I watched the video, saw Sara in each and every movement the young woman made, and followed the experience with a very, very cold shower.

Who was I really kidding, anyway? I knew that I would go, no matter how long I agonized over it. I would be there, sooner or later. So I left.

The apartment—which was really more like a condo or a townhouse… How much money did Anni have, exactly?—was barely recognizable in the dark, completely lit up from within, the street before it littered with cars. As soon as I parked and reached the end of the driveway I could hear the music pulsing. It was something loud, with a heavy beat, but I couldn't make out any words. I thought about knocking and disregarded the idea—no one would hear it anyway. At this point, the party had gone beyond that, and if someone did answer, it would likely only draw attention to me. Instead, I slipped inside, hoping that my foolish ensemble would disguise me enough to allow me some anonymity while I searched for Sara.

What I might do when I found her, I wasn't exactly sure of, yet.

I had fought with myself long enough that most of the people surrounding me were not on their first drink. In fact, though there couldn't be more than twenty to thirty people here, it felt like there must be near a hundred. It was crowded and hot and no one really noticed, let alone questioned me… With the one prominent exception of a tiny little blonde whose head came just above my shoulder, though it looked like that was due mostly to the giant heels she had on. She wrapped one arm around my waist and managed to spill her beer in the process, thankfully soaking only my shoulder and part of the cloak.

"Ohhhh my god. I'm. so. sorry. …Let me get that for you." She dropped the now-empty cup to slip her hands under my shirt at my sides. I jumped away like I'd been burned. The girl, for her part, fell to the floor at my sudden movement and looked disoriented. I frowned and helped her to stand, thinking that there was no way I could leave her. She was absolutely gone and if I knew college guys…

"Jess! What are you doing?" Another girl approached, looking very sober and eyeing me with suspicion. I offered my best placating smile and passed 'Jess' to the new girl, noticing for the first time that she was dressed like a devil. …I hated irony.

"She, uh… spilled her beer on me. And then tried to help me get out of my wet shirt. I… didn't just want to leave her, but…"

The new girl nodded, apparently satisfied that I hadn't been in the process of dragging her friend into a bedroom to take advantage of her. "Thanks."

I nodded and felt better about moving forward, further into the crowd. I thought about heading upstairs, and then disregarded it after a moment. The kitchen was small, but more likely for hosts. As I pushed through people, I heard the music changing to something I recognized immediately, though I had only heard the song once. I could already feel another cold shower coming on.

I wasn't the only one, apparently—people were moving to the kitchen with me now, obviously surging to see something within. I pushed through, finally, and saw a girl who might look very much at home on a corner standing by their tiny little bar top, grinning. "…Who wants to see Alannah Myles perform her song?" She shouted out, above the music.

It was Anni, I realized, when she spoke. The tight curls up by her head threw me off. …Betty Boop, I realized, before grimacing in distaste, but my eyes slipped behind her, finding Sara. She looked… very, very much like her singing counterpart, though with a sort of grace and refined beauty that had not been conveyed in the brief video I'd seen. She was blushing—or was her face red from drinking?—but she was smiling.

And before my eyes, another Sara emerged. A Sara who, apparently, danced on kitchen bar tops. A Sara who could twist and arch her perfect little body in ways that would make a porn star jealous. A Sara who would drag her barely-dressed friend up with her, and proceed to engage in something just short of probably every man here's fantasy, They wound around each other, hands all over their own bodies and, within moments, pressed together, hands on each other's bodies. They separated, but the dizziness inspired by the moment lingered as my eyes followed her hips as they rocked with each beat of the music.

This was a girl I didn't know. A girl who did not know I was here and who might believe I was not coming at all.

"_A new religion, that'll bring you to your knees…" _

Jesus Christ, if truer words were ever spoken… I wasn't even drinking, I hadn't spoken to her yet, and yet I felt like I did the night I almost kissed her—the inevitability and the loss of control—and like I did the day I did kiss her, in my office—angry and frustrated and pulsing with masculine possessiveness. Yes, I wanted to fall to my knees before her like a religion, but not before I bodily removed every other male from the vicinity. How dare they lay their eyes on her when she was… When she was doing things that I imagined would be my privilege to see, one day, in private. A sweet, seductive side of Sara, kept safe and secret, just for me.

Not a public one.

"Black velvet, if you please…"

The song trailed off, the girls slid back to the ground, Sara flushed but laughing, Anni grinning and giggling at the group of men who surrounded her. And though Sara was surrounded also, she seemed… disinterested. She gave the crowd a perfunctory scan, frowned in disappointment, and then made her excuses to her admirers, slipping out from them, and then out of the kitchen. I followed in time to see her climb through people in an attempt to get upstairs. I had a much harder time slipping by people, and she was nowhere in sight when I reached the top landing. There were only two doors, however, so I chose the one closest to me. The window in front of me told me that I was at the front of the house, and hadn't I accidentally seen her dressing in a window at the front?

I opened the door to the unmistakable sounds of sex. I blinked in surprise and they dwindled, a guy turning to look at me. "Dude, what the hell?" …I needed to know that it was not my Sara in his arms though. I cleared my throat, prepared to ask, when a female voice I didn't recognize asked, "…What, do you want to join in?"

I closed the door faster than you can say "threesome". Was this the world Sara lived in? The one she hinted at, but never ever directly connected herself to? I moved down the hallway to try the other door, dreading what I would find there. When the door was locked, my heart pounded harder. Oh god. She was inside, with some guy—I knocked. I don't know why I knocked or what I was even thinking but—

"I told you guys already. No one is having—" The door unlocked and burst open in front of me. "—sex in my room!" She blinked in surprise. "…Oh. Um, Can I help you?"

I frowned, and then realized my mistake. I slipped the hood of my cloak off. Her eyes lit up upon the sight of my curls—a dead giveaway, apparently. "You came!"

And then our lips crashed together before either of us knew what hit us.


	20. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: So I'm soooo sorry this has taken me so long. I can't tell you how much I struggled with this chapter. But, hopefully, I'll have more time when school starts up again (isn't that ridiculous?) and I'll be better about updating. Hope you guys enjoy this. :)

Unbetaed, so the mistakes are mine, and yet Pati still deserves more thanks than she can know. She makes me a better writer, even when she doesn't even look at what I write. Thank you, dear.

* * *

Chapter Nineteen:

My eyelids fluttered closed as we collided, full of need, a stumbling mass that slipped from the bright hallway into my lamp-lit bedroom. The door closed behind us just before he pushed me against it, pressing against me with nothing short of urgency, his hands grasping eagerly—almost anxiously—at my waist, like he was afraid I might slip away if he didn't keep an anchor on me. It took me several dizzy, heat-filled moments to realize that despite his earnestness, his kisses didn't taste like anger this time—and not like sex either.

No, they tasted like fervent, furtive, delicious longing, and it was so much sweeter. Like chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne when you were expecting salty bar nuts and the burn of tequila.

And maybe it was that inherent sweetness that had me pulling away, gasping for breath—tempting fate by separating from him. I had no idea what had gotten into him, but the flood of endorphins his kiss had caused was making me dizzy and I just needed a minute to get my bearings. He didn't seem to have any intentions of allowing such a thing as his lips found my neck instead, his tongue sliding over my pulse point in a move that was positively moan-inducing, eye-rolling, knee-weakening. This was not like last time, which meant that it was so good—just what I'd wanted, all along—and so I did not know what made me say the words. Because I really, really shouldn't have said them, but his palms were sliding up either side of my lower back, under my tank top, and his mouth was in the curve between my neck and shoulder, his breath hot and heavy, and I just couldn't keep them in.

"…You're not drunk, are you?"

I cringed as soon as I said it, waiting for him to pull back in sudden realization, the way he had twice before, but he didn't. Or, at least, not immediately; not the sharp retreat I'd expected. Instead he shook his head slowly, his lips on my neck reducing pressure with each repeated press, finally retreating to the simple act of running the tip of his nose back and forth along that sensitive curve, sending another round of goose bumps over my neck and shoulders and straight down my back and arms. I leaned back heavily against the door to remain standing and, when he finally lifted his head just slightly—just enough to meet my eyes—I gazed back with more than a little uncertainty. This wasn't… This wasn't the Dr. Grissom I'd come to know and—

His eyes were over-bright, even through his mask, and he looked younger—more vibrant—than I'd ever seen him. He didn't look torn, or confused, though I wouldn't say that he looked decisive either. I bit my bottom lip, unable to break the eye contact, until finally he sighed, looking regretful, and shook his head again. "…No. But I shouldn't have done that."

I frowned in disappointment and he chuckled softly at me, finally pushing the dark mask off his face. Seeing the entirety of his expression—soft, tender, adoring—it made me ache to taste him again. Made me want to die in this moment so that I might never have to see him look at me in any other way. My heart was beating madly and I thought dimly, through a haze of sweet-lipped satisfaction, that my first—the teacher who had taught me to never believe men's lies—had made me think I was in love… but that had been before this moment. And now… now, I just wasn't sure what I would do if he ran away again, or reiterated his desire to be friends. I knew, much to my dismay, that my eyes were wide and probably slowly filling with the emotion I couldn't restrain, but I couldn't figure out how to turn it off or turn away from him.

He sighed again, this time accompanied by a little smile, and it was soft. Like a lover's breath on you cheek, moments before they slip into a deeply sated sleep. His hands moved from my back and slid into mine, our fingers intertwining just like they belonged. And, somehow, that made my heart beat even harder than the kisses and the soft caresses had. It was almost too innocent for me to stand. Standing close like this, holding my heart quite literally in his hands, he scanned my eyes thoughtfully, a decision of some kind lingering in the depths of his. He bent his head to mine again, kissing just the corner of my lips again, the way he had when he'd told me we had to be friends, but his eyes were wide open. I tried, too, to keep mine open, but the second I felt the soft brush of him, my eyelids were fluttering again and against my will, my lips murmured a soft, "Oh," against his.

His eyelids were heavy when he pulled back and I knew that in a brief moment, I had been so vulnerable—so beyond open to him, and that he'd seen it. I wanted to run, to lash out, to cry, to send him from my room… but he was already tugged me gently towards my bed, his thumb sliding over the back of my hand soothingly. I felt off-balance, my feet heavy and clumsy in my heels, and I just wanted to understand what he was happening. What he was thinking.

He sat slowly down on the edge of my bed and pulled me gently into place beside him. He turned to me, tucking my wild curls behind an ear. Heat filled my face, and I felt like I was waiting for my very first kiss—not just from him, but ever. My hands were sweaty, my breathing erratic… I just knew I'd explode if he didn't say or do something soon.

"…I… Sara, I think you feel this too. Tell me you feel it too, because I don't want it to just be me, or for this to be attraction rather than affection. But I… I couldn't _stand_ watching you up there, moving like that, for just anyone to see… I mean, if you don't, that's okay, Sara. I said we'd just be friends and if… if that's what happened—"

I cut him off with a kiss, in part because he was being beyond ridiculous, and in part because I just knew I couldn't wait any longer for another taste of him. His hands immediately slid into my hair and pulled me closer and I gripped his shoulders tightly, willing to understand and to not make me wait for him any longer. He deepened the kiss briefly before backing off, blinking rapidly, as if in surprise at his own actions. "…Sorry." He murmured, as if he'd kissed me.

"Don't be," I murmured, palms grazing over his smooth cheeks, amazed that he was letting me touch him like this. It didn't really matter that I didn't exactly understand where he was going with this, because that was never where my power in relationships lay. I didn't get to name them, define them, explain them… but I knew that once we were in it, I'd be in control. Not that any of my lovers had been in explicit in telling me either of these things, but I was no fool. And if this was what he needed… "I do feel it. …This "friends" thing…"

"Was ridiculous. I know. I didn't think it would be so difficult. …Do you want this, Sara? I mean, more than a fling or a one-night stand, but something more… meaningful? Because watching you up there—down there—I can't not have you anymore. If you want me, honey, I'll make this work for us…"

It did not occur to me that he meant any real kind of sacrifice—there were words I was used to, and I was just so happy that he was finally speaking them to me… the lies that mean romance and intimacy and a chance to see him naked after all this goddamned time… that I didn't think of what, exactly, he was proposing here. I just sighed happily, beamed at him, and nodded. "I absolutely want this. Something meaningful. More than anything."

And he smiled, and kissed me again, and I felt this deep, overwhelming soaring feeling within me. I was so certain that this time, it would happen… that he'd bend me back into my bed and kiss me even deeper into the mattress while my clothes slowly fell away under his soft, deft hands—slowly, but passionately, because that was how Dr. Grissom was. And, well, if I'm being honest… proceed to rock my world. It had been a long, long time for me, and I'd been creaming my panties for months at just the thought of him, and it really was about time. …And even if it wasn't that good—sometimes they weren't all I built them up to be—that was fine. I would rock his world instead, and he would thereafter never feel like another woman could truly please him. He would continue to desire and adore me, which is what I was after far more than the release.

Although the release would be nice.

…But he did not rock my world, nor did he even try. I slipped my tongue into his mouth and leaned back enough to encourage him to push me into the soft, welcoming world of my comforter, and though he groaned—a low, shiver-inducing sound—he immediately backed away. Smiling sheepishly and kissing my forehead. "…You may be able to kiss like that all day and leave it at that, honey, but after watching you up there… We need to stop, or I won't be able to."

I frowned again, utterly bewildered. Why on earth did he want to stop himself? We'd both been on edge because of each other for months and he wants to stop? He seemed oblivious to my confused indignation, pulling me to his body, my head to his chest, humming happily. "Should we watch a movie? …I mean, if you want to go back to the party, we can do that, but you were already up here and…"

'No," I rushed to reassure him, trying to straighten out the wrinkle of confusion above my brow. "No, I want to stay here with you. …Um, I, I can find something to throw in, but there might be some horror movies on TV—it's Halloween, after all."

"Samhain," he said, thoughtfully, brushing a kiss into my hair. "The earliest history of Halloween—it was a pagan holiday. They believed that on this day, the veil between the living and the dead was at its thinnest."

I blinked in surprise but smiled despite myself, thinking that I should have expected to learn something about Halloween when I saw him tonight. I shook my head teasingly. "I bet I can find a Freddy Kreuger…" I suggested, slipping off the bed. I took the time to lock my bedroom door, wary of people looking for beds, and then turned the television on rather loud, attempting to block out the noise from the party that had seemed like quiet background noise until I realized I couldn't hear the news anchor who was reporting on some children's trick or treating event. I couldn't find any of the Nightmare On Elm Streets, but there was a low budget horror movie that looked moderately interesting.

By the time I returned, he'd placed himself against my headboard and I tucked myself against his side, his arm coming around my shoulders. It was nice, but it was frustrating. He squeezed me close to him, like my presence was all he wanted. Like being this close and not having me wasn't driving him crazy, the way being close to him was making me.

"…You don't know how long I've wanted to do this, honey." He murmured, and I shivered again. Wanted to do what, exactly? I was wetter than I'd probably ever fucking been, and he sat there cool as a cucumber, content with an arm around my shoulders. And _that_ was what he'd been wanted to do. Sincerely. He didn't try to grope a boob or slide a hand up my thigh or sneak another kiss, though my temple and my cheek and Jesus-Christ-my-ear were covered with the warm, wet press of his lips, off and on throughout the slasher flick and in between commentary like:

"That's not what arterial spray looks like. A first year forensics student could tell you that"; and,

"How is she screaming if he cut her throat? I mean, I know it was deep, but it was deep _enough_"; and,

"Now, they've got this whole serial killer thing wrong. If the explanation for his behavior is a psychosis induced by childhood trauma, don't you think he'd have more of a pattern to his murders? I mean, unless he just snapped one day, but they've kind of implied that he planned this—built to it, over time. …Wouldn't a pattern make more sense?"

And though I was thoroughly frustrated through the movie (and through at least ten attempts by partygoers to get into the room), I found that I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. Despite the gaping chest wounds that reminded me of my father and the psychosis explanation that would normally have worried me about my own potential for violence… I was okay. It didn't feel like it held much weight when he was here, keeping me safe. Well, that, and because now that he'd pointed it out, the film's gruesome special effects were poor enough to be more comical than frightening.

The film was followed by another, similar, low-budget, unrecognizable slasher flick, but I didn't make it through that one—I had my head on his shoulder and my breathing was in time with his. I was out before the first murder. I reached for him when I woke, before I even opened my eyes, thinking that with a little persuasion, a sleepy conscience and a morning erection, we could take care of the problem from the night before that still lingered between my thighs at the moment.

But he wasn't there. Instead, my hand encountered paper.

_Sara, _

_I wanted to wait for you to wake, but I needed to get in to work and I wanted to let you sleep—I figured you could handle missing a class or two, with that brilliant brain of yours. I hope you're not upset—you just looked so beautiful. I'll be taking care of a few things today, and then I'll give you a call… On your next night out, I'd really love to take you out like you deserve. Sweet Dreams, honey._

_Gil_


	21. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Haha! I was stuck on Attrition for soooo long, and now I think I've got it back! :) Thanks, of course, go to my awesome beta and awesome-r friend, Pati, and, of course, to everyone who wished me well while life was hard. I heart you all.

Sooo read, enjoy, review... :) And I'll work on another update.

* * *

Chapter Twenty:

"Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. I know we're only halfway through the semester, but I've had some personal things come up, and I'm going to need to be done here, sooner rather than later. I know that this is inconvenient and unprofessional and, believe me, I'm aware of the opportunity that this job was for me. If there were a way to avoid this, I would, but…"

Tony eyed me speculatively—I had already spoken with the bio and anthropology department heads, and technically I didn't even need to address him with this matter. But we'd been planning a seminar—a longer version of the interdepartmental science one we'd tried out this fall—and despite our differences in age, he'd been the closest friend I'd made in Boston, other than Sara.

This was arguably the most foolish thing I'd done, if not ever, then in a long time. I hadn't applied at the crime lab in town here, and so my plan to do consulting work was speculative more than anything—I was assuming they would have use for a forensic entomologist, as there were only a handful of us in the country. I knew I wouldn't have trouble finding a job somewhere else if that fell through, but in my head, that made the most sense. How else could I justify not returning to Hennepin county? How else could I have enough control around my schedule to place no burden on Sara—who was much more pressed for time and short on money than I was.

At least for the time being. Once I was out this salary, that might not exactly be the case.

"…There's absolutely no way you could just finish out the semester? I know you're not technically a part of my department, Gil, but all the science programs were excited to have you on campus. You're an asset to the students and, quite frankly, there's no one qualified to take over your intro level forensics class."

"I discussed that with Harper already—I had my lesson plans done several weeks ahead of time. I'll take the next week, working at home, to finish up the lesson plans, study guides, tests, and answer keys for correcting. Whoever takes over for me, so long as they have minimal knowledge of forensics, should be able to handle it—they're a good class."

He leaned back in his chair, and the look in his eyes hadn't changed. He wasn't ready to accept anything I said at face value. It was a look I saw on some of the best detectives I'd worked with back in Minnesota. With a glance at my feet, I straightened in my chair. It didn't really matter if he saw through me, but I knew—vaguely, in an uncertain kind of way—that this man's opinion meant a lot to Sara. She wanted his approval. She didn't want me—or us—to come between them. So I needed to keep my composure.

Of course, I hadn't discussed this with her, primarily because I didn't want her to feel guilty or to tell me not to. I had told her that I would take care of everything and make this work for us, and I was doing so. If I told her after the fact, then she wouldn't bear the responsibility of having been a part of the decision-making. I cleared my throat, finally out-waited and out-silenced.

"Tony, there are just… some things—personal things—have come up and I need to make them my priority. This is the only way for that to happen. I… I'm sorry that I've disappointed you, but…" And I was. Briefly, I understood what Sara must have felt when she believed Tony might be disappointed in her when she wasn't attending my classes. He was a paternal kind of man with soft features and he'd taken me under his wing and befriended me in a way that no one else on campus had.

"No, no, Gil, you haven't disappointed me. Of course not. Things come up and you have to deal with them; that's life." There was something in his tone that was a dismissal, and I nodded, standing and shaking his hand, ready to leave the campus I no longer had any claim on, hoping against hope that this had not been a terrible mistake. I trusted Sara, but that was not to say that I hadn't come to a healthy appreciation, in the month we'd been pretending we could be friends, of just how secretive she was. He waited until I was nearly out the door before he added, almost softly, "Be careful with her, Gil."

I turned back in alarm, but the man was already shuffling papers about and looking intent upon what he was doing. I didn't necessarily buy the act, but it was a clear sign that I was not being invited to question his words and what he thought he knew. I had already emptied my office, so I let myself out of the building.

I knew Sara was working tonight, Friday, and Saturday, but I was fairly certain she had Sunday night open. So I went home, trying to keep Tony's words from replaying themselves in my head, and started to plan our evening. I would need to call her and ask her officially, of course, but in the month I'd spent being Sara's friend, I had gotten the impression that she hadn't been pampered much in her life, either by family or by boyfriends, and it was my sincere intention to change that.

The problem was, I couldn't keep Tony's words away entirely—What exactly had he meant by that? Be careful not to hurt her, because he cared about her? That seemed the most logical, and though it was troubling—Sara would likely not be happy if she knew that her beloved Dr. Anderson knew about us—it was only moderately so. She was an adult, I was no longer her teacher—there was no reason we shouldn't be together. But there was some part of me that couldn't accept that as the true meaning behind his words. Or, at least, not the entire meaning. Certainly Tony cared about Sara—I'd seen that firsthand—but there was also a kind of ominous tone to his words. His inflection was like a veiled warning, and the only way that made sense was if he'd been telling me to be careful with her for my own sake.

Why on earth would he say something like that?

I tried to focus on the restaurant reservations and the plans for a highly romantic and extremely indulgent evening, and later on retyping up my resume and tailoring my cover letter to the director of the Boston Lab, whom I knew by reputation, though not personally… but it just kept coming back to me. I wanted to find him and demand an explanation or call Sara and insist that she explain what, exactly, I needed to be worried about in pursuing a relationship with her.

Of course, I did no such thing. I went to bed, and woke around one to my phone ringing—Sara was home from work and calling me. The conversation was short, and mostly consisted of shared greetings, me asking her about work, a sentence or two of a response, and then her asking me about my day. She always tried so hard to stay up and talk to me, but was almost always asleep within minutes of me telling her how my day had been. Generally I would have been insulted by this, but Sara had nothing but rapt attention for me in class and in person. If she called at the end of a long day just needing to hear a familiar voice, I was more than happy to serve the purpose of comforting her into sleep. Especially because she was a self-proclaimed insomniac. I _liked_ that I could give her a little rest when she seemed to otherwise get so little, despite all the things she was juggling.

This meant that I had no opportunity to explain to her that I would not be in class the next day to teach her—I had wanted to explain myself to her, personally, before that happened. I called in the morning, before class, hoping that I could catch her—but Anni picked up the phone after probably ten rings, sounding less than happy.

"Hello?" I'd definitely woken her up. I frowned, feeling bad.

"…May I speak to Sara, please?"

She sighed in frustration. "Is this Dr. Grissom? She doesn't sleep. If it's past six a.m. and no one answers after the first couple rings, she isn't home. And if it's before eleven, I'm sleeping." And she hung up.

Well, she was a sweet girl.

I resorted to trying to find her on campus. I hovered outside the physics building in my leased vehicle after the class she would finish about an hour and a half before my—well, _her_ Intro to Forensics class. She came out, looking distracted, and I had to shout her name out the passenger window to keep her from walking right past me, oblivious. She turned in surprise, a wide smile lighting up her face, and then schooled it into a professional half-smile, politely bewildered.

"Dr. Grissom. I was just on my way to your office to ask about my last assignment. I guess I'm too early."

Wow. She was good at this not-arousing-suspicion thing. I wasn't sure why that bothered me, but it did, a little.

"Can I talk to you quick? Jump in."

She looked at me like I had lost my mind and looked around to see if anyone else was paying attention to this interaction before she slipped into the passenger seat. "…This isn't a good idea. Can't we talk in your office?"

"Are you working on Sunday night?" I asked, while driving us a little down the road and into a tiny, deserted driveway beside one of the buildings for garbage pickup.

She blinked in surprise, and then offered another bright smile. "Dr. Grissom… Are you asking me out?"

I felt my ears turn red, but I nodded. "I am, Miss Sidle, if you're available…"

She had an amused smile on her face, a kind of pursuing of her lips that did crazy, terrible things to me, and this moment was no exception. "I work until four thirty on Sunday, but I have the night free…"

"Then would you please, dearest Sara, do me the honor of allowing me to take you out and express my affections for you?"

She blushed at that, losing the self-satisfied pucker on her lips and nodded sheepishly. I grinned and took her hand in mine, kissing the back of it. "Do you have a nice dress, sweetheart? I want to take you somewhere nice, but I don't want you to feel like you need to buy something or…"

"No, no. I have a few dresses. Her face was still red and her smile still a sweet, shy, beaming, and I wanted to kiss her so badly. Instead, I continued with my plans.

"I, ah… I'll pick you up at six? Does that give you enough time?"

"Yeah, of course. I…" she bit her lip and shook her head sweetly again, looking like she was still getting her bearings. "Did you… did you plan this? Leaving your office and coming out to find me just to ask me this outside of class or your office or… 'school'? That's really sweet."

Oh. Shit. I shook my head. "No, honey, I… I mean, yes, I wanted to ask you, but… but that's not why I did this. I wanted to make sure I told you, before class started—"

"Oh," she said, realization dawning and a knowing smirk coming to life. "No, I know. We can't let anyone know about us. I understand… _Doctor Grissom._" She breathed, in a soft, husky, whispery voice that had me standing at attention faster than you can say "sex kitten". I was dizzy, likely from the surge of blood away from my brain, and so it took me a second to realize she was looking at something out the window. She turned to me quickly, offering me an apologetic smile. "Hey, I'm sorry to cut this short, but I just saw someone from a class I missed yesterday when you let me sleep in—I'm gonna run to catch up with her. I'll see you upstairs? Great!" And she was out of the car and racing across the campus before I could even get a word in edgewise.

Shit.

I tried my best to drive around and follow her progress, so that I could wave her over after she'd finished catching up on her assignments, but I was certain I'd lost them. I caught her moving into a building at the last minute and looped around to rest outside the door she'd gone in and waited. …And waited and waited. I waited until she was absolutely going to be late for class, at which point I realized that the door on the other side of the building was closer to the building my—her—class was in. …I'd already missed her.

Well, she was going to be in for quite the surprise, apparently. With a heavy sigh, I turned my car back towards home, knowing that I would likely be receiving a call within the next hour and a half.


	22. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I don't own them. But that's okay, because in two days-TWO DAYS-they'll hopefully being doing good things again.

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy! I rewrote it a couple times, with my ah-mazing beta's help. Pati, I owe you. But I'm pretty happy with how it turned out so...

Let me know what you think!

* * *

Chapter Twenty One:

He wasn't in his office or the classroom when I got there, but it didn't necessarily worry me. Sure, he'd been acting differently, but things had changed—it made sense for him to feel nervous and to act strangely and to feel the need to make sure I knew the risk he was taking, especially since it was a risk he'd never taken before. And, hell, he'd been in his car—there was every possibility that he was going to pick up a quick bite to eat before class or that he'd had trouble finding parking or that he'd gotten halfway to the building and had to go back for something he'd left in his car. It wasn't until other students were filing into the classroom around me that it occurred to me.

He really should be here by now.

I didn't have time to start worrying, much, before a young T.A. moved in, introduced himself, and said he was a senior in the Anthropology department. And that Professor Grissom had had a pressing family emergency arise and that he was going to be done for the semester—but not to worry, they'd still be following Dr. Grissom's lesson plans and his syllabus, and using his keys to correct any assignments or papers, so very little should change.

Everything had changed. The earth had tipped on its axis. My center of gravity had shifted, and I felt myself on the verge of sliding out of my desk and into an abyss.

He ended this reality-altering speech with a rushed, "So, any questions?" It took everything in me to keep rooted to my seat; I couldn't cause a scene, even if I felt as though the floor had been pulled out from beneath my feet. This had been what he wanted to tell me, and I hadn't let him and…

What the _fuck_ was he doing?

I was dizzy and confused and… and this changed everything. Didn't he understand that part of his appeal—No, _most_ of his appeal—came from the forbidden nature of their relationship and the fact that she wanted approval from someone who qualified as an authority figure? Didn't he realize that fucking a teacher was safe, but dating a man…

Well, I'd misunderstood the distinction between the two the first time, and I'd gotten hurt, hadn't I?

With a teacher there were rules and limits and a ticking clock that kept you from getting too invested. I was a master at psychoanalyzing myself—all those years listening to counselors do it—and I knew exactly what I was doing, choosing teachers.

I clearly hadn't communicated this little detail to Dr. Grissom. Intentionally, I guess. Because he was new to this and that kind of information would have scared him away. It just… It had never been a problem before. Every other man I'd ever been with had understood without explanation, because my primary appeal lay in the fact that I was a student. It was reciprocal. It made sense. It was easy. The fact that Dr. Grissom needed this explanation—had a made a fatal mistake because I hadn't given it to him—it also changed everything.

I felt nauseous.

It was an overwhelming thing to realize that for Dr. Grissom… things were different. That he wanted me not because I'm a student, coming with both a power structure and an expiration date built in. Not because I'm the sexiest and the smartest of his potential choices of a student lover.

No, he just wanted me. As a woman. His choice out of everyone, not just the girls who'd enrolled in his classes this semester.

I was sick with the overpowering weight of such a thing and I knew I was sweaty, clammy, pale. I felt like if I didn't get out of this room I would lose it, and the T.A. noticed. With a concerned frown, he asked if I was okay and when I shook my head—What? Was I going to lie and say that green was just my natural color?—he told me to go ahead and be done for the day.

He probably didn't want me vomiting on his shoes.

I took the out, packed up my things with trembling fingers, and left, but I didn't make it very far. I bolted into a bathroom less than twenty feet from the classroom and puked like I'd been drinking hard for twelve hours straight. I felt weak and shaky when I was finally able to stand, flush the toilet, and force myself back out to the sinks. A girl I didn't know was there, popping her gum and applying her eyeliner too heavily, completely unaffected, apparently, by the sounds and smells of me being ill.

"Morning sickness?"

I scowled, moving to the sink to wash my hands, rinse out my mouth, and finally pat my face with cool water to get rid of the cold sweat clinging to it. "I'd have to be getting laid for that."

She flashed me a grin and turned back to her make up while I perused my appearance, trying not to think about what had upset me, at least until I could get into my own home and my own bed. Anni would know what to do. Anni would help me.

I took a deep breath and pulled out my own make up, thinking that I needed to fix my own eyeliner—tears had poured down my face while vomiting, and it had run and faded and been smeared away. After a second, I stopped and pulled the pencil down, glancing between eyeliner girl and myself. Did I really wear as much as she did?

Dr. Grissom liked to say that the evidence never lies. I was looking between the pair of us and, despite my initial reaction that she looked like a trashy raccoon… there weren't any noticeable differences. I put the eyeliner away and hitched my backpack up on my back, keeping my eyes on the ground as I moved out of the building and back to my vehicle. I didn't let myself think on the ride home, turning the music up and reciting the periodic table for good measure, and when I got home, I didn't go to Anni, but to the shower. I didn't collapse or sit with my knees to my chest, enduring burning heat until it faded into an icy cold cascade… I washed my hair, my body, my face, I soaked up the heat, and then I stepped out.

I avoided the large mirror while I dried off, toweling the excess water from my hair and then sliding the terry cloth down my limbs, just enough so that I wasn't dripping. And then, I did turn around and look. Sara Sidle, naked. Not just unclothed, but unmasked and uncovered and more vulnerable than I'd been in a long time.

I didn't recognize myself. Not really.

Same eyes, same nose, same mouth—same dental problem, same freckles, same dark hair. But my lips were stained darker than they ought to've been, unable to attain a natural shade even after the shower. I still had a dark ring around my eyes from the eyeliner, thin and frail, and maybe even a little mocking. And the rest of my face lacked… life.

I didn't know when filling up my holes had started giving me new ones, but I knew even as the realization fell upon me that I wasn't going to change, exactly. I still wanted to be worshipped like the sex goddess I believed myself to be, because it did make me feel powerful in a life in which I'd had all too little control. But maybe, just maybe… it wouldn't be so bad to be worshipped by someone who didn't see me as a dime a dozen. It was scary, and hard, and… scary. But so were the shadows under my eyes and the lost look inside them.

When had my sexual liberation become a bondage?

I moved to my room and locked the doors to keep Anni out. I had wanted her help, but now I felt… I didn't think there was anything she could say to me, right now, that would help. And I knew that she had just as many holes as I did, and she was busy filling them up too. After a moment of hesitation, I called Eddie to tell him I'd gotten sick in class. It was a Friday night and he wasn't happy about it, but he didn't question me. I must have sounded awful, actually, because he offered to pick me up some soup and medicine if I didn't feel up to leaving the house. I wanted to say yes, but I didn't think I'd be able to keep myself awake long enough. I was exhausted.

As soon as I'd hung up, I burrowed down into my bed, buried deep, covers up to my face. My eyes were scratchy and my limbs tired and my heart still racing. It hadn't really been beating normally since the T.A. had stepped into the room and changed everything. Despite the overwhelming fatigue, I tossed and turned, uncomfortable and uncertain and… frightened.

I picked up the phone and dialed Dr. Grissom's number, thinking that I'd ask him to come over with soup and medicine to snuggle up with me and help me sleep. On the first ring, I panicked. Would he know that I was this way—weak, emotional, sick—because of him? Because of what he'd done? What would he say and how would I explain? Seeking his comfort when I couldn't sleep was natural now, a sedative after a long night of too many people and too many drinks and too many come-ons. I'd dialed without even thinking.

"Hello?"

I put on a false cheery voice and made myself smile, even as tears slipped into my eyes. "…Hi."

"Sara. Hi. I tried to explain before you went into class—"

"No, I know. I figured it out. I, ah… can't say I wasn't surprised."

They were rolling down her face, into one ear and along the side of the phone she had pressed to the other, and she kept the grin fixed, feeling like a broken clown.

"I know. I'm sorry about that. I wanted to explain to you that…" He paused, and I held my breath, fighting off the need to sniffle that my tears were causing. "That I'm not taking this lightly. I know you're not either," he rushed to explain, "I know that. I just… I want to give this a real chance."

I wiped my cheeks, breathing heavily, blinking wet lashes at my ceiling. "I know. I… I wish I hadn't been, uh… blind-sided by it, but… I want that too." I whispered the last part, afraid of it as much as I was of him, and I was pretty sure the tears sounded just below the surface of the whisper.

He sighed softly. "You heading in to work soon? Maybe I'll come see you…"

I swallowed. Shit. "Oh, no, I… Eddie called. He doesn't need me tonight. So, yeah… just… hanging out at home."

"Oh. …Did you want to move our date up? I'd love to see you tonight."

I gnawed on my bottom lip and shook my head. "I don't have a dress picked or… anything. I kinda just wanna spend the night in bed."

"Oh," he said again, and I could hear his disappointment. My heart hammered. "Okay. Great. Ah… did you want me to let you go so you can… relax?"

There was something in his voice—insecurity, maybe?—that struck a chord with me. It was achingly familiar. "No. …No, it's not like that. Do… do you want to come over? Just cuddle with me?"

He hesitated, and I wondered why—he'd spent the night with me just two days ago—but before I could ask him, he was agreeing. "Yeah… that would be nice. Give me an hour and I'll be over. Chinese?"

I smiled, despite the renewed trails of tears. It was too natural, too comfortable, too normal. "…Get me an extra egg roll?"

"Of course."


	23. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: So... this chapter kind of took on a life of its own. It didn't end where I thought it would, but I like to let my characters tell me their story, so who am I to correct them? Hope you enjoy it.

Aaaand, once again, thanks so much to my amazing beta, Pati. My writing is so much better because of you.

Let me know what you guys think!

* * *

Chapter Twenty Two:

I opened my eyes, once again, to find Anni in my bed. Anni in underwear and a midriff-baring tank top, running a fingernail thick with polish over one side of my face. I blinked sleepily, and then remembered the night before and glanced over my shoulder uncertainly. Dr. Grissom, still with his glasses perched on his nose, was asleep behind me. I frowned and turned back to Anni, who grinned and whispered, "Did you finally fuck him?"

My eyes bugged and I gritted out a nearly-silent, "Shh!"

She giggled and, in my sleepy state, I only just realized that we were both in bed with Dr. Grissom, and she was the one wearing the least clothing. I was in sleep shorts and a t-shirt, and Dr. Grissom was in jeans and a polo. I felt my eyes narrowing without even meaning them to, and quickly changed them back to normal.

"No, I didn't. And just so you know, he's not really the type of guy to wake up to you in bed with us and think he's hit the jackpot. …He'd probably take off running."

She snorted quietly and rolled her eyes. "So he's gay? …Why's he in your bed, _again_, if you're not doing him?"

With a flare of irritation, Sara looked over her shoulder again and then whispered back, "He came over with Chinese food. We watched TV and cuddled and… kissed a little."

She raised a perfectly shaped, indignant eyebrow at me. "...No wonder he's not interested in a three-some. He probably can't get it up."

"Anni!" I scolded, looking over my shoulder in concern again. "…He… he can get it up just fine, okay? I've felt it, but… He just…" I stopped, because I had no idea in the world why things were progressing so slowly. He'd come over, bearing extra egg rolls and bottles of coke, and we'd sat on my bed with our backs against the headboard, watching MTV and eating out of the containers with chopsticks. I offered to change the channel, but he'd just smiled at me softly and said it was just fine. I hadn't put on make-up or dried and styled my hair, feeling much too exhausted, but rather had slipped into the shorts and t-shirt I was wearing now, and pulled my wet hair into a loose bun. I figured that if the man had quit his job for me, he probably wouldn't run at the sight of me without eyeliner. Hopefully.

Once we'd put the Chinese food containers aside, he'd gently turned my face to his and kissed me. He tasted like sweat and sour sauce and his mouth was warm and gentle, and before I'd known what was happening I was pressed back into my pillows, getting the full effect of being surrounded by him. Oh, he was a good kisser, especially when it wasn't in the throes of passion but soft and lazy and lingering. I had images fluttering in my brain about lazy afternoons, sleeping in and making love even before we were fully awake, sunlight filtering in through the blinds to bathe us in warmth. He was leaning over me, but not quite on top of me, and yet there was no questioning that he was everywhere, all around me. I absolutely couldn't help the fact that my hands slid into his hair and a moan rumbled up from the back of my throat like a self-satisfied purr.

But it didn't last. Ten minutes, maybe, of the most torturous just-kissing I'd ever endured, and then he pulled back breathlessly, told me I was beautiful, and suggested we find something on TV. It was a blow to my ego, certainly, that I once again needed to change my underwear because of this man and yet he remained wholly unaffected. And then I laid my head on his chest to watch the television, my right arm tucked beneath me, my left hand resting over his heart, my left leg up on his thighs… and I felt it. _It._ No, I was not the only one who wanted this to go farther, and yet it wasn't.

I sighed softly. "He's just… old-fashioned." Maybe that _was_ it. …Oh god. Maybe he was religious and wanted to wait until marriage. Jesus Christ, I wasn't even sure I wanted to get married, let alone wait how-many-fucking-years to have sex. I frowned, and Anni giggled.

"And it's driving you crazy." Her voice became sing-song. "Some-one-is-horn-y!"

Once again I flinched and looked over my shoulder, willing him to sleep on, peacefully and obliviously. "You need to go before he wakes up, Anni, or it'll never happen!"

She scowled, and then giggled. "Oh man, you're probably dying if you're this desperate. Why don't you just go buy yourself a vibrator? …You could always borrow mine, I guess, as long as you run it through the dishwasher afterwards…"

"GO, Anni!" I said as forcefully as I could in a whisper, and she giggled again and slipped out of bed, walking back through the bathroom and into her own room without making any effort to cover up the skin her tiny thong exposed. Once her door closed behind her, I breathed a sigh of relief and rolled over to face my elusive entomologist.

Slowly, softly, I reached out and removed his glasses from his face, folding them neatly and laying them to rest on the nightstand behind me. His face was clear, his eyelashes long and dark on his cheeks, which already carried a slight stubble, despite how smooth his cheeks had been this afternoon. His curls were dark and sensual in the dark of the room, and I wished fervently that tonight had turned out differently. Holding my breath, I eased myself between his knees and laid down, my head on his chest, stomach to his groin, and hips and legs between his legs. I let my arms wrap around him, up under his t-shirt, and buried my nose against his chest and inhaled deeply, liking that he smelled like laundry soap and me, sleepy male and books.

I relaxed there, feeling warm and safe and comforted by the closeness and the smoothness of his skin under my palms, thinking that maybe if I let myself, this could be a really good thing for me. Sure, I was frustrated enough to start humping his leg if we didn't fuck soon, but… I felt my lips turn up a little, sentimentally. But this could be… sweet. Nice. Something more than what I was used to, and maybe something better than what I had previously thought I'd wanted. I let my eyes flicker closed, thinking of going back to sleep, when I felt him stirring beneath me.

His eyes flickered open once, and then closed again, but his hands lifted up and his fingers threaded through my hair, which had fallen out of its ponytail sometime in the night. He hummed softly and his eyelids fluttered, and against my stomach he started to get… hard. There was a part of my mind that fought this—he was clearly in a state of half-consciousness, and morning wood was a natural biological response. The other part of me, however—the part that was luxuriating in the feel of his fingertips moving against my scalp—could hardly keep from tearing his clothes off. I swallowed and whispered, "…Are you awake?"

"Mmm." He grunted. It was not the clear response of someone who was wide awake, but it was an answer. He'd heard me. I arched my back, pressing my stomach against the now-impressive erection beneath me. "…Mmm!" He groaned and moved his hips against me. I needed no further encouragement. Especially not with Anni's irritating and yet still powerful words ringing in my head. Why _hadn't_ he tapped this, if he wanted it so bad? Quick and silent, I undid his button and zipper and yanked his underwear—boxers, I learned—down enough to expose his hard, hot, throbbing length. His eyes were sliding open in surprise, but my mouth was already descending, and there was very little he could do to stop me, really.

I was convinced that the positively guttural sound that escaped him would wake Anni, but he was gripping my hair like the proverbial caveman, and he could drag me off to his cave if he wanted to. Hell, I'd basically been working on that since August. I knew that once he came to his senses, I ran the risk of him putting a stop to the entire thing, so I set myself to the task of preventing that. Which, you know, was not all that difficult an undertaking. I gave a killer blowjob, and I knew it.

Usually I liked to tease a little… Draw it out, let anticipation build… but that tactic only worked when the man in question was much more consenting than my Dr. Grissom was. My alternative was to bring him to the brink as fast as humanly possible, and keep him there. With that in mind, I relaxed my throat and took him as deep as I could, all the way into my mouth, willing my gag reflex to behave itself.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" he said, on a gasp, and his fists tightened in my hair. And though I couldn't exactly smile… I was on cloud nine. I _had_ him.

I let him slide out with nothing short of relief—my eyes had been watering—and held him in my right hand, moving up and down, sucking hard enough to make my jaw hurt so I could keep my mouth tight around him. I would make this man come if it killed me, and then I might finally feel secure, instead of this awkward in-between shit. Fucking Anni, suggesting everything BUT the idea that he just might not desire me very much, and letting the absence of those words taunt me. I had argued her other points and won. I felt confident that he was not gay and could get it up—obviously—but the idea that maybe there was something unappealing about me, or that even if he was physically attracted, he was holding himself back because on some other level I didn't meet his standards…

My tongue ran along his slit, tasting his salty sweetness, and his hips bucked up hard, his head rolling on my pillows. I felt confident, perfectly in control, and the twitching, straining muscles in his stomach and thighs told me that he was so very close to losing it. I backed off, taking the time to run my tongue up the underside of him, base to tip, and circled the head under his foreskin, making another of those guttural groans slide from his open, panting mouth, ending with a slight whimper as I swallowed him again.

His hands in my hair caught my head tightly between palms and slowly but surely I was being pulled up to him. I felt a flare of panic, followed by a rationalization—he probably didn't want to lose it without doing anything for me first. Maybe he'd even fuck me. We were getting somewhere!

No. No, apparently not. He wrapped sweaty arms tightly around me and, still drawing in labored breaths, buried his face in my shoulder and shuddered. "Oh, god, honey. Sara. Oh god, you… You don't know what you do to me."

Clearly, not enough. Not if he had the willpower to drag me up and make me stop and to try and calm himself now. I felt tears in my eyes and looked up at my ceiling, trying to fight them back, and was surprised a moment later when he lifted his head and roughly placed his mouth over mine, kissing me almost punishingly. When he pulled back, my eyes were heavy-lidded and uncertain, and he just looked…horny. The man looked like it was taking everything he had in him and more to keep from pushing me back down and demanding I suck his cock. He exhaled heavily and then groaned his frustration.

"The things you do to me, Sara. You make it hard to be a gentleman."

I frowned. "…Maybe I don't want a gentleman."

In between pants, he smirked, and turned me to face him with a hand under my chin. "No, maybe not. But you deserve one." He pecked my lips softly, and then slid his hands down his body, tucked himself back in, buttoned, and zipped. "Let's try to get some sleep, okay?"

He pressed me to his chest like nothing had happened—like I hadn't had his fucking dick in my mouth moments before, deep-throating him—and held me tight. He hummed softly, rested his chin on my head, and murmured, "Good night." His throbbing hard-on between us told me that he was not remotely close to sleep, but his words had a tone of finality that left no room for discussion. With the taste of him still in my mouth, I huffed and closed my eyes, wondering whether I'd get any sleep after this.


	24. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Thanks to everyone for their reviews and for being patient with me. Life is super busy right now. :) Hope you like the chapter. If you do, it's probably because Pati fixed all my mistakes for me.

Enjoy!

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Chapter Twenty-Three:

I looked like a tramp.

I had raided Anni's closet after trying on everything remotely nice I'd ever owned and disregarding it. The only thing that might have been appropriate—my gray dress pants and the emerald green shirt—I'd already worn in front of him, the night of the seminar. She had a share of nice, expensive dresses, but most of them she'd purchased too small or modified herself, to make them edgier and to make her mother mad. These modifications were almost always to make the skirt shorter or the neckline lower, though there were a few in which she'd made noticeable slits up the sides.

This was not what I was going for.

I would have to go shopping and buy another dress, I just didn't know when—or where I would get the money from. Realistically, I didn't have a lot of cash to spare in a month. My paychecks paid for rent, Anni paid the utilities, and I fed myself off of tips. When I was seeing someone, generally they kept me fed and bought me lots of presents, which meant that I had a little spending money, but still not much. It seemed like extra expenses always crawled out of the woodwork any time you managed to get a little ahead. There had been one professor who'd given me a credit card and informed me that the spending limit of five grand was what I had to stick to for the semester. God, that'd been a good semester.

Dr. Grissom was not like that. To him, this wasn't about "keeping" me, and so there was no incentive to act like my sugar daddy. This was a real relationship, the likes of which I hadn't really ever known, and so it was… different.

Even so, I wanted—needed—something better to wear. He'd said he was going to take me somewhere nice, but that if I didn't have a nice dress he wouldn't want me to feel out of place—which meant that he was thinking somewhere much nicer than I'd probably ever been, except maybe with Anni's parents when they showed up in town and coerced Anni into spending a little time with them, lest they cut her off. I was always dragged along, of course, for moral support or… something. And while wearing one of Anni's little dresses on those nights was fine, because we were making a statement, tonight…

I sighed and pulled myself out of the final dress I'd tried—the tramp dress—and re-hung it in Anni's closet, before padding back through the bathroom to my own room and starting to pull on my work clothes. Usually I had a little bit of wiggle room in my paychecks that would have allowed me to shop sales, at the very least, but I'd missed work more often this semester than ever before. There was no wiggle room. As I drove to work, I thought about Anni's blue dress—it did come down rather far in the front, but she had bigger boobs than I did. If I didn't wear a bra, it might not be so bad. The girls wouldn't be up so high, at least.

Yeah, that could work.

Eddie took one look at me when I got there and pulled me into his office, frowning. "Is there something I should know about?"

I blinked at him in surprise, looking down at myself uncertainly, wondering what had set this off. "…No? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about…" He paused, his eyes scanning my face, and sighed. "I… You've been sick a lot this semester and… and you look like shit, Sidle. You're pale and you've got dark circles under your eyes. You've always been a thin little thing, but never have I thought you looked… frail. Are you not eating? Are you doing drugs? Are you sureyou're not pregnant or… or that you don't have… I don't know, cancer or AIDS or something?"

I smiled at his concern, even as I was wondering at it. Did I really look that bad? "I'm fine. I don't know why I'm getting sick so often, but I am eating, I'm not doing drugs, I haven't had sex since my last STD test, and I don't have any unexplained symptoms or pains or… or anything. I'm okay. Really."

He gave me another long look, but apparently took me at my word and nodded, gesturing that I could resume my trek to the staff room to hang up my coat and get ready for shift. I was grateful that the room was empty when I got there. I hung up my coat and moved to the mirror hung on one side of the little cubbies he had for people's purses, etc.

I was pale, this was true, and there were circles under my eyes… but the biggest difference I noticed was how much less make up I was wearing than normal. Raccoon girl had scared me, and I'd toned the look down this morning after Dr. Grissom left, after I'd taken another shower, finally removing the stain of both lipstick and eyeliner from my face. …But Eddie probably wasn't picking up on the make up so much as he was noticing what was usually hidden beneath the layers—I was not so put-together as I liked to pretend to be.

My alternative—reapplying to recreate my usual look—was more troubling than leaving myself as I was. I smoothed down my hair, grabbed an apron, and tied it around my waist as I made my way out to the bar to clock myself in.

It was a Saturday night, so we were busy, and my group of friends was at its usual booth in back, rowdy and inebriated by ten o'clock. This was the first time I'd realized just how loud they got, and Eddie's lack of attention to it informed me that this was apparently normal for them. After half an hour of it grating on my nerves, however, I brought another round of drinks around and told them that I'd overheard a couple of my tables complaining, and that I didn't want to lose out on tips, so could they please keep it down. I had enough tables tonight that I was confident they wouldn't try to figure out who had complained and confront them, therefore revealing my lie and _actually_ making me lose my tips. Even though they teased me, they did make an effort to be quieter.

It wasn't until close to midnight that Mr. Moneybags walked in. I didn't nickname all my customers, of course, but it was helpful when you were moving too fast to write orders down. Mr. Big Hair wanted a Jack Daniels and Mrs. Too Much Perfume wanted a chocolate martini—that kind of thing. Mr. Moneybags stood out for a lot of reasons. The first was his suit, which was clearly designer, the second his coat—clearly expensive—and the next was the way he spoke: clearly well-educated. What did it, though, was none of these easily noticeable signs. No—it was his sense of entitlement. It mirrored Anni's, and I could sense that shit a mile away, now. It happened like this.

"Hey, how're you doing tonight? What's your poison?"

I was clearly in a hurry, a tray full of empty glasses held up next to my head, my tone slightly more brisk than I intended. But his reaction to me was… lazy. Slow. He leaned back and eyed me carefully, from the roots of hair to the scuffs on my old black flats, before a leisurely smile slipped across his face. "Your very best scotch—a double—and a moment of your time."

I blinked in surprise. I was used to come-ons, sure, but… not like this. Not so smoothly and not… so expectant. Sure, lots of assholes didn't think there was a chance I'd turn them down, but theirs was an air of bawdy superiority, like they'd had the last several skanks tell them they had the biggest cock in the world. But this was more of a… quiet arrogance, like he had genuinely never been denied something he wanted before, and could not for the life of him fathom that it would happen this time around either. I felt myself blushing, and smiled a little. "I, uh… I'll be right back with that."

I was flustered. I didn't know how to respond to this kind of attention. If he was drunk and harmless—a mild-mannered man who just had loose lips—I'd have flirted playfully and expected a large tip. If he were less harmless, I would probably play hard to get—blowing him off with just the right amount of swing in my hips, toeing the line between getting a nice tip and having to have him escorted out. Usually, I was good with the line and got my tip instead. It didn't do me any good to have all my tables vacated. But this was… different. I had a swooping in my stomach that told me he was not harmless, and yet his manner had been very cordial and polite. I didn't know how to play this, and there was a part of me that felt guilty for wanting to play him when I had Dr. Grissom.

I never felt guilty for flirting for tips. …Did that mean that I expected this to come to more? Or was it just more of my uncertainty? I offered the man a glance as I piled up drinks on my tray, and found his gaze fixed steadily on me. He did not look impatient or demanding, he was just… waiting. I felt shivers skate up my arms and intentionally brought him his scotch first, so that I could have a reason not to stop at his table. There were more empty glasses to replace and a couple platters of greasy fries to deliver after that, and this knowledge relaxed me a little… until I served those things, and realized that two of my tables had left and everyone else seemed perfectly content with what was before them.

Except Mr. Moneybags.

He was sipping his drink, and watching me. Usually if a customer was watching me, it meant they wanted something, but I pretended I didn't notice his gaze and moved to the two empty tables, collecting their money and running it to the cash register, extracting my tips in the process, before snagging a rag from the soap and water bucket under the bar, ringing it out, and hurrying to clean them. …This only helped me for a couple minutes. And then, everyone was still fine, and he was still watching me.

My hands shook as I moved over to him. "Did you need something else, sir?" I said in my most distant tone, hiding my uncertainty in a bright smile and wishing I was wearing my heavier make up tonight.

"I did. I requested two things, and received only one." He extended a hand to his side and pulled out the chair beside him. I swallowed, glancing at the bar for help, but Eddie was over his head in orders.

"I, uh… I have other tables, sir." I asserted, but another look around told me that they were all quite content, and that Moneybags knew that. He didn't have to speak; I sank down into the seat across from him—not the one he had pulled out for me—with trepidation.

He smiled nonetheless. "Thank you. I appreciate it. It isn't often a beautiful young woman decides to join me for a drink. What's your poison?" He asked, mimicking my words from a few moments ago. I blushed and shook my head.

"Oh, no, no, I… I can't drink while I'm working."

"Commendable," he murmured, taking another sip. "What's your name?"

I would have lied, but I was wearing a nametag. "Sara."

He inhaled slowly and exhaled with a slight hum. "Sweet Sara, hmm? You are quite beautiful, Sweet Sara." He used the alliterative phrase like a title, and I felt with certainty that he had an Adorable Ashley and a Beautiful Beth and a Cute Candice. "Sweet, sexy, salacious, scrumptious, silky, slender, sleek…" I raised an eyebrow at that, amending my prediction. Acrobatic Ashley, Buxom Beth… Concupiscent Candice. He chuckled. "Suspicious too."

I had had enough of this. Who did he think he was, anyway, a fucking thesaurus? I cleared my throat. "I need to get back to my tables. It was nice meeting you." I stood, but he shook his head.

"No, I gather that you did not find it to be a "nice" experience at all. I'm sorry for that, Sara. I think, however, that that will change in the future." He pulled out a wallet—a high quality leather wallet, lined with silk—and opened it intentionally wide enough for me to see the stack of hundreds he had tucked inside. He removed one, smoothly, and laid it on the table. It was crisp and undamaged, like it had gone from the treasury into a ten thousand dollar brick and directly from there into his wallet. I felt frozen in place, watching his movements as he downed the rest of his drink and pulled a pen from the inside breast pocket of his expensive coat. He scrawled a name and number on the napkin that had been beneath his glass moments before, laid it on top of the hundred, and slid both in my direction.

"I would have asked for your number, my Sara, instead, but I doubt very much you would have given it to me. That's good—you're cautious; smart." He quirked his lips. "Smart Sara does fit you better than 'sweet', doesn't it?" He hummed as he exhaled again, and nodded. "I will be more upfront with you then. I'm looking for a… certain kind of arrangement… something mutually beneficial." He smiled again and stood, turning to leave, and then paused and turned back. "Ah. That's right. You're smarter than most." And with that, he removed a second hundred and set it on the table, sandwiching the napkin holding his information in green. Finally, he left.

I watched him go a little dizzily, licking my dry lips, before it occurred to me that I hadn't looked around at my tables in a while. No one seemed to be complaining or trying to get my attention, but their drinks were getting low. I blinked several times, retrieving the money and napkin he'd given me and shoving them into the front of my apron before snatching up his empty glass and making my rounds again, taking orders for refills. After rattling them off to Eddie, I moved behind the bar and paid for his double scotch out of my other tip money, mostly to avoid Eddie's questions about it should he see the large bill. I wasn't sure if I was going to take it yet, but if I did, well… I liked the idea of not breaking them. Was that agreeing to his deal? Maybe I should keep it so that, if he showed up again, I could hand it right back to him and tell him where he should shove his "mutually beneficial" arrangement.

…Maybe I'd just discovered how to buy myself a dress, for my night out with Dr. Grissom.

I mulled over my indecision all night, catching only an hour of sleep or so, and got up at five to try on Anni's blue dress again. It was better than her trampy one, it just… wasn't what I wanted, for this date that Dr. Grissom had built up so much. Maybe if I showed him I was a lady, maybe if I didn't screw tonight up, he'd finally think I was… I don't know, worth fucking? …Worth loving, maybe, but not in those words.

Nothing opened before I had to be at work, but I managed to convince one of the night girls to come in a half hour early, so I could take an hour and a half break. The Lantern was close to a little dress boutique that was expensive, but exactly what I was thinking, and I figured it would have to do. I ran over in my Lantern T-shirt and jeans, rolling my eyes at the looks the women behind the counter gave me. People in stores like this were much more accommodating when Anni's mom came in with us. If I'd had the time to ignore them and look myself, I would have, but I didn't. I walked up to the counter.

"Listen. I need a dress by tonight and I've got an hour right now to get it. I'm roughly a size two and I'm tall."

The two women blinked at me in surprise, and then one nodded succinctly. "Absolutely. There's a dressing room in back. I'll start bringing back things for you to try."

"Thank you."

I hurried back, locked the door, and stripped down, and within moments was being passed dress after dress. I slipped in and out of at least twenty, ruling out any that were over two hundred without trying them on; no use falling in love with something I couldn't have, after all. I finally settled on a gorgeous yellow dress which clung to me all the way down to above my knees and made me look like I had an amazing figure. It had spaghetti straps, but still didn't show much cleavage, and the price tag said $149.99.

A glance at my watch told me I was out of time. I passed the dress to the woman through a crack in the door and asked her to ring it up and bag it—I'd be out in a moment. By the time I was dressed, she was smiling at me from behind the counter, the dress slung over it in a white plastic garment bag. I moved up, passed her my two crisp hundreds, and watched her smile while the other woman—the one who had not jumped in to help me—frowned. Apparently she hadn't thought I would have the money. Well, fuck her. I hoped fervently that they worked off commission, and that she was kicking herself for it now. Stupid bitch.

I barely made it back to work on time, but I smiled the entire rest of my shift, feeling on top of the world. Dr. Grissom was going to lose his mind when he saw me, and no matter where he took me, I would feel like I was good enough to be there, on his arm, as his date. Things were looking up, and I didn't trouble myself again with thoughts of Mr. Moneybags.


	25. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: First and foremost, I would like to thank my beta, Pati, without whom this would have likely taken much, much longer to get up (if that's possible...).

Secondly, I want to thank all my readers for sticking with me, and apologize for the long delay. Between final papers and projects and attempting to plan a wedding that is (holy shit!) less than three months away now, I just don't have the time to keep up with my writing. This is my last week of school, so things should get better, but the wedding will probably be a distraction from now until August. I'm sorry about that, not much I can do. Come August, hopefully I'll be back to my regular posting. I haven't forgotten about this story, or any of the others, though I know that waiting sucks! Thanks guys. 3

Hope you enjoy...

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Chapter Twenty Four:

I had already spent countless hours staring at this particular ceiling, at one time or another. Countless, frustrated, blue-ball-induced hours noting the texture and the occasional crack, trying to lull myself into some kind of sleep while repeating the mantra that Sara deserved better. Though my insomnia this time around was not occupied with said mantra, nevertheless, I laid awake.

It had not been my intention to end up here, tonight. No, I had planned on leaving Sara at her door with a sweet goodnight kiss and a promise that I would take her out again—with the mental note that I would take her to more average restaurants in the future; I might not know much about women, but I hadn't been a CSI for nothing, either. She had still had a tag on her dress, peeking out in the back. When I pointed it out to her, she'd blushed in embarrassment and pulled it off quickly, despite the awkward stretch required to grasp hold of the thing, and had promptly dropped it on the ground at her side while I lead her into the restaurant. A quick glance told me it had cost her more than she could afford to spend, and that perhaps I had been much too concerned with taking her somewhere to pamper her—it had clearly caused her enough worry to make her spend money she didn't have.

She had been really, very beautiful in the yellow dress, of course. A glance at her as she opened the door had me somewhat breathless as I offered her the bouquet of roses and stammered out a customary—but completely true—comment on her loveliness. But she was beautiful so much of the time without even trying that I had expected as much—and, true to my vehement resolution that I would not end up here, staring at her ceiling, again—I had taken care of "business," so to speak, before coming to get her.

Never in my life had I been a man who felt the need to do such a thing, nor had I ever been so presumptuous, but Sara was a force of nature that I had succumbed to on more than one occasion, just barely preventing myself from taking what should be the most intimate of moments between us and cheapening it into a torrid, rushed encounter, and I was bound and determined that, on a night in which I was demonstrating how a man ought to treat the special woman in his life, I would exert more willpower.

Sara had never told me much about herself or her past, but I could piece together enough to realize that she probably hadn't been treated like she deserved to be treated in a very long time; maybe not ever. Her expectations of me and our relationship were especially revealing, but it was visible in other areas too. Her choice of a friend in Anni was the most obvious, but there were other things—the way she reacted to compliments, her relationship with Tony, Tony's strange warning, the way she carried herself as if she was simultaneously arrogant and insecure. And though I knew that it would be altogether smarter to avoid someone as obviously… troubled as Sara was, she drew me to her like a magnet. I had spent time as her teacher, her pursued love interest, her friend, and was just now stepping into the role of actual lover, and in each role I had felt like something deeper than mere attraction was resonating within me in her presence.

I still wasn't sure I really knew her, but I did know that she was absolutely worth the apparent risk involved.

Or, at least, I was pretty sure.

And the night had gone well; dinner, soft lighting, romantic music. She had commented a little curiously that there weren't any prices on her menu, and once I informed her that they were on mine, she seemed to be lost between feminist indignation and excitement over the idea. Conversation came easily; we'd been spending time together, not-dating, for months after all. We laughed, we ate, we danced, and after dinner we took a long walk along the ocean, despite the chill in the air. She blushed sweetly when I draped my suit jacket over her bare shoulders, and somehow I ended up at her front door, with Anni's car nowhere in sight, and a most fervent desire to continue the evening, despite my plans to the contrary. It did not seem appropriate to suggest we curl up with a movie like we usually did, after a night as magical as the one we'd just shared.

When she slid hands over my chest, grasped my tie, and pulled me slowly into a kiss, I admit that I might have had an idea where it was leading. But the slow sensuality of the act was so different from Sara's normal aggression in all things intimate that it was much easier to lose track of things. Much easier to be seduced when the seduction was subtle.

And it was. It felt like the very first time we'd seriously kissed… slowly. The first time it had been a steady build up rather than an explosion. It sent shivers through me, and it was really only natural to take the step closer to her, and to welcome her into my arms when she closed the remaining space between us. To my utter surprise, it was my tongue that parted her lips, not the other way around, and it took me a long moment to realize that she was attempting to open her door behind her back, to get us inside.

I wasn't mindless, so there was no moment of realization; perhaps I was like the frog who would sit in gradually heating water until I boiled, simply because the evolution of my reality was gradual. Perhaps it was just easier to cede tacit control to her when she gave me no reason to believe I should be fighting her.

I pulled back from her slowly, breathing deeply, and our heavy lidded eyes met. I had meant to wait; after all, tonight had been about showing her how a gentleman behaves, and sleeping with her on our first formal date was not the prime example of that, no matter how expensive the restaurant nor how romantic the evening. Her deep eyes though, molten chocolate with flecks of gold that really weren't visible until you were this close… they made me think that, just maybe, this could be okay. Maybe the perfect night was not about following protocol, but about the way I treated her. I could still be a gentleman in her bed, couldn't I?

Whether I could or not, she had already turned from me, fitting her key into the lock and twisting it almost desperately while my lips fell, again and again, to the nape of her long, gorgeous neck. It was not a thought-out action by any means; no, it was like gravity. Keeping away from her was an impossibility.

When she turned back to me, there was a slightly vulnerable look in her eyes, telling me that she was worried I would stop this again. It was this, more than anything, that made up my mind for me. Gentlemanliness aside, she didn't need the pain of rejection, and I truly, honestly, did not want to deny her anything, but especially this, tonight, in this moment, when she was so god-damned beautiful and her expression so uncharacteristically honest.

We did not stumble in a kissing, interconnected mass up the stairs, but rather, Sara slid out of her shoes and set her purse on the table, waiting for me to set my shoes beside her heels before she took my hand and pulled me up the stairs. She did not bother turning on the lights, but did take a moment, once we were standing in the darkness of her bedroom, to lock the door behind us, as well as the bathroom door that connected her room to Anni's. When she came back to me, she seemed almost hesitant—a trait I did not associate with Sara—and so I bent to press my lips to hers, willing her to trust this, and to trust me.

This time, we did move en kissing masse; my knees buckled beneath me as I backed into the bed, and together we rotated and then scooted, until a pillow was beneath my head and she was above me, her eyes bright even in the darkness, a siren looming over her captured sailor. I truly could not help but bury my fingers in her hair, despite the obvious care that had gone into putting it up. She reached up and, after a moment, her curls tumbled down, surrounding my face in a cascade of dark beauty. I struggled out of the jacket I'd slipped back into, after the beach, and she helpfully tossed it to the floor and tugged on my tie once more, this time in an attempt to remove it.

She had regained her confidence, and it was showing. Her movements were becoming quicker, more aggressive, her tongue darting in and out of my mouth with force and her lower body moving further up so that she could grind herself against me. I groaned out my reaction, but this was beginning to feel wrong. It was not the quiet, honest, intimate affair it had started out as, nor was it what I'd imagined for our first time, all those nights I'd stared at her ceiling and insisted that I was doing the right thing, in waiting. She had gone from one extreme to another, and I just wanted some middle ground.

My tie untied, she left it tucked beneath my collar as she began unbuttoning my shirt. Uncertain with her aggression, I attempted to give myself the upper hand again, unzipping her dress down the back and sliding it down, groaning out loud when I realized that she only wore a tiny pair of panties under it, as bright a yellow as her dress. For some reason, that was maddening, and for a brief moment I was lost in sliding my hands from her bare breasts to her barely-covered ass, squeezing and grasping and lifting my hips into her distracting movements, letting myself indulge. It was only when, having spread my shirt wide and licked a wet trail down the center of my chest to unfasten my pants, that I realized how similar this was to all of our other almost-encounters, and how much I didn't want that.

I didn't want to set a tone of lustful interaction, nor did I want her to think that I had expected this, in return for the date. I wanted to love her, slowly.

I did the only thing I could think of, and flipped her over, pressing her into the mattress and kissing her slowly, trying to take control of the speed and let her know that it truly was about her, not about the act of sex. Well, I mean, not that I didn't want the sex, but it was so much more than that.

She would not be deterred, a hand sliding down my side and then between us, to press against my barely-behaving erection, inducing a groan and an unintentional thrust against her hand and making my head spin. "Sara," I grunted out, trying to regain some control. "Sara, honey, slow down."

"I can't," she breathed against my cheek before dipping her head to kiss a line along the underside of my jaw. "I've wanted you for too long…" Her hand sped up, and in a bout of frustration, I seized her hands—one still pressed against me, the other gripping the curls on the back of my head—and pinned them to the mattress on either side of her head. There was a slight flash in her eyes, containing too many emotions to define simply, but her following actions hinted at some of them. An amused smirk slid over her lips, even as her voice trembled with slight apprehension. "…You like control, hmm?"

No, I thought, not any more or less than the average person. But I kissed her instead of voicing that, slowly, teasingly, biting at her lips gently, trying to entice her into a more relaxed exploration. She shivered beneath me, and I spread her bare legs with my knees, slowly sliding down until I was cradled between her thighs, putting most of my weight there and gently draping the rest of my body over her torso. Kissing her more deeply now, I released her hands and held her face between my palms, trying to communicate the depth of my affection for her in the gentle, measured pace I was setting. Her newly freed hands slid immediately down the sides of my chest, where she could touch me, and attempted to maneuver between us to touch me again, but couldn't. She huffed in frustration, breaking the kiss, but I continued on as if I hadn't noticed, kissing my way over her neck and sucking on her earlobe with just enough pressure to make her break out in goose bumps.

Her arms, complete with pebbled skin, gave up their attempts and moved back up, catching the sides of my shirt just below the collar and sliding them down over my shoulders, prompting me to first remove my hands from her face to let her remove the shirt, and then to pull away completely when they got stuck on my wrists. Pulling the entire shirt, still wrapped on my wrists, over my head, I tried desperately to unbutton them in the dark, frantically worrying that all the progress I'd made in slowing us down was about to be lost if I didn't get the damn things undone in the next few seconds.

I felt her shaking first, and a certain part of my brain—the tiny part that was unconcerned with remembering how buttons work—wondered at it, but it wasn't until I actually heard a giggle escape her lips that I realized she was laughing at me. I lifted my eyes from my wrists to see her pressing fingers over the deliciously kissable mouth, trying to stifle her reaction to my frustration. Even as I felt my own lips quirking in response, I narrowed my gaze at her, doing my best to look frustrated—and not entirely faking it—and her giggles burst forth, louder and stronger than even both of her hands could hold back. Her nose scrunched up, her eyes squeezed closed tightly, and her whole body shook with laughter. After a moment of watching her, so unreservedly happy at something so simple, I felt myself smiling too, and eventually laughing myself, not only at my predicament, but also at her explosive laughter. She had tears beginning to slide out of her eyes and down over her ears, and I knew without a doubt that I had never seen her look more beautiful than naked beneath me, convulsing with mirth.

If I could have bottled the moment, to keep with me always—into the long, dark moments when I wouldn't have her like this—I would have.

Eventually, we both relaxed, letting the laughter slowly ease its way from our systems, a stray chuckle escaping here and there as we came back to the moment, both breathing heavily (from the laughter, not the sex). My head was against her bare chest, pressed between her breasts, and it felt like the most natural position in the world, here with my ear tracking every breath in and out and each strong, vibrant heartbeat, even if my hands were still trapped in the dress shirt pressed between our naked stomachs.

As the full catharsis of the moment finally lifted a little, I raised my head and smiled lazily at her, wiping at the residual tear tracks while she smiled back at me, taking the hand by her face and slowly unbuttoning the cuff of my shirt, before reaching for the other and repeating her actions. It was a slow, sweet, simple action—honest and caring, with no small amount of intimacy—and we both felt the slight shift. My upper body was held up by my elbows, both hands up between us from her ministrations, and with our eyes locked she slowly pulled the shirt from between us and let it fall to the floor on one side of her bed, leaving a bare expanse of skin before us, each of our chests pressed together, merging into one form.

I was lifted enough that her breasts were open to the air, and after a long moment I broke eye contact with her to press kisses along the tops of them, descending into the valley, before kissing my way up from sternum to clavicle. This time, her hands slid languidly up my arms, fingertips cataloging their shape as they slipped onto my shoulders and into my hair, massaging lazily. A moan slipped from her lips when I kissed the hollow in her collar bone, and when I lifted up again to look into her eyes, she kissed me.

There was still purpose there, in her kiss, but not the urgent, burning kind. Her fingers tightened in my hair and mine found their way into her curls as well, and I quite lost track of things until her hips started rocking beneath me. This too, was different. Less about tempting me, and more about relieving her own tension while she was otherwise engaged in kissing me. I could feel her heat and wetness through my pants, and through the lacy, barely-there panties that still clung to her body in just the right way, and just the thought of finally pushing inside her was making me lightheaded.

It was a relief when her hands slid down our bodies again, fumbling with my belt and then roughly pushing down both my pants and boxers, baring me to the scratch of the lace and the delicious burn of being so close and yet so far. I bicycled my leg to remove the offending garments and broke the kiss to reach down and remove my dress socks too. Naked. I was completely naked with a woman fifteen years my junior who, less than a week ago, had been my student… A rush of uncertainty moved through me, but I was reassured when, instead of putting her hands on my newly-exposed arousal, she smirked at me, a silent tease over my need to remove the socks, and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, tugging me back down to her and renewing the skin-to-skin of a moment before that had been so intimate.

"Sara," I murmured, between kisses, trailing my hands down her sides in slow curves, intent upon removing those yellow panties and tossing them in the direction of my pants; it was absolutely my intention to keep them to remember this night. "Gil," she breathed back, her lips moving over my neck and shoulder, her voice breathless and husky.

It was, perhaps, the first time she had used my first name without prompting, and my hands on her hips trembled as they slid her final garment down her legs and threw it towards the end of the bed. "Are you on…?"

"Yessss," she breathed, her legs coming up on either side of me and putting my throbbing erection right where it wanted to be, pressed into her folds, encased in the heat and the wetness.

I swallowed hard, unable to prevent sliding against her. "Do you want me to use a… I mean, I don't have…"

"I trust you." She said, this time more clearly, and her hands gripped my shoulders as the second stroke against her had the head of my penis bumping against her clit.

I kissed her, then, and pulled back even farther in my stroke, until I felt the change—the slight dip as I lined up with her opening, accentuated by the soft gasp into my mouth as I did. I pressed slowly, and her body received me willingly, no resistance telling me to pull back and ease in again. No, it was a slow slide into paradise, and she arched up against me, hands gripping my shoulders again, her head thrown back against her pillows. Fully sheathed, I paused, panting, waiting for her to meet my eyes, and I was not disappointed. She shuddered, her inner muscles gripping me, and she rolled her head down and lifted heavy lids to lock gazes with me.

It wasn't about the slowness anymore; I moved within her at the only pace I could maintain without finishing prematurely or perpetuating my frustration, steady but not slow, but that didn't seem to matter. I could have been pounding into her like a madman, and there still would be no question that this was the most intimate experience of my life. We were making love, in the truest sense of the word, and it sent an emotional wave through me that had my mouth moving in response. Kissing and biting and licking her neck, all the while murmuring how good she felt and how beautiful she was and how long I'd wanted to be wrapped up in her, just like this.

When she went over the edge, it surprised me—I'd sped up, a bit, and I knew that I was getting close, but I had thought it was still too slow to get her anywhere. I'd been trying to gain control over myself long enough to get her to come, and then all of a sudden she was pulsing around me, her body arching violently, shuddering, and she was wailing out her pleasure to be heard by any and all. Her nails gripped my back, her ankles hooked around mine, and I was right on that fucking precipice, poised to go over. I hit the point of no return while she still writhed beneath me, and the most intense waves of pleasure rolled through me, rocking my hips harder and faster, anything to prolong the feeling. And then her wail became words, and her nails raked up to my shoulders, and everything changed.

"Oh, god, fuck, Dr. Grisssssoooommm!"

She collapsed against the pillows, sweating and panting, aftershocks within her still squeezing me sporadically, while I stared down at her with uncertainty. Mid-orgasm, the bliss had become hollow, almost painful, and my release into her had left me wanting. When we were making love, she called me Gil, but when she was coming… she was still with her teacher.

She let out a sound, half-hum and half-moan, and rolled her head gently on the pillows, and reached up to me without opening her eyes. "Put your weight on me, it's okay. I want to feel you."

I acquiesced, wrapping my arms around her, and rolled us onto our sides a few minutes later, feeling myself slip from her and the accompanying pang that came with the loss and the cold, and before long she was deeply asleep beside me, sweaty and sated, and still beautiful beyond description.

And I, I turned my eyes once more to her ceiling.


	26. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Sigh.

A/N: Thanks go to my amazing beta, whose enthusiasm for my stories keeps me writing. :)

Hope you guys enjoy and thanks for all the reviews last time. For those asking, All That Glitters will also be updated here soon, I'm just in the process of re-reading it and taking notes, because I forgot which clues you guys know about yet. :P

Thanks for your patience with my sporadic updates. Planning a wedding is so much harder than anyone tells you. Lol.

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Chapter Twenty Five:

"You locked your door last night?" Anni asked me with irritation, moments after Gil had kissed me goodbye and made his way home, the next morning. She was in the kitchen, and it smelled like she was cooking, which in itself was pretty strange. She only did it when she was agitated, or high enough that the munchies made her too impatient to wait for pizza and too inventive for her own good.

I raised an eyebrow, moving down the hallway to the source of the question herself. "You like to creep into bed with us, and he would not be okay with it. It's different when it's just me, but with Gil spending the night…"

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, poking the sizzling bacon in front of her with a fork while the pancake in the other pan overcooked. "Please. You're pretty fucking uptight for someone who isn't even _doing_ anything in there. Oh, wait, that explains it. Of course you're uptight; you're not getting laid."

I had never withheld relationship details from Anni, from the time we'd moved in together and some time before that, and certainly not the juicy, in-between-the-sheets kind of details, but this time… It just felt more private, than before. She didn't appreciate that Gil was different than the others, and that he made me think I could be different too. She didn't think there was anything wrong with us—she and I—and the way we lived our lives, but I did, and I didn't want to have to justify my newfound epiphany to her. It was easier if she thought I was in it for the sex.

Or, well, the potential for sex. I could not possibly describe last night in terms carnal enough to disguise how meaningful it had been; I would have to wait until we had dirty, raunchy sex, and tell her that was our first time. She thought he was gay anyway—what difference did a couple weeks make?

Instead, I gave her a wicked smile. "At least I'm not so desperate that I'm trying to trick my roommate and her boyfriend into a threesome."

A piece of bacon, still sizzling, flew out of the pan at me, spattering hot grease as it went, and though I dodged it, I felt the tiny pinprick burns as it flew by my arm. I scowled at her, about to ask if she was fucking crazy, but the look on her face stopped me. It was absolute devastation. For the first time I realized that her vitriol was not a tease. She was upset. Angry.

I felt my gaze soften, and wiped the burning grease from my arm as I stepped closer to her. "…Anni?"

"I would never lock you out." She said, in a tone that implied my actions had been tantamount to stabbing her mother. …Well, no, she would probably thank me for that. But if she didn't hate her mother, the actions would be comparable.

I sighed softly. "Honey, I wasn't trying to keep you out, he just… if he'd woken up this time, he would have been upset. He wouldn't understand."

"So? Since when do we worry about upsetting guys over each other?"

She eyed me with a pained expression, and I closed the distance between us, taking the fork from her hand, setting it on the counter beside the spatula, and pulling her into a hug. "Since never. I'm not choosing him over you, babe, last night was just… I would have been really upset if it had ended badly over something so little." I hesitated a moment, but she still looked upset, and I needed her to understand that I was not pushing her away just because Gil and I were getting closer. "…We, uh… did it last night."

She pulled back from me with wide eyes. "No shit?"

I grinned and nodded. "No shit. And believe me, it was _worth_ the wait."

She snorted a giggle, and turned back to her food, clucking her tongue and tossing the burnt pancake and then ladling another onto the pan while I transferred the bacon from the pan onto a paper-towel-covered plate. "…How big?"

I grinned, but my stomach turned a little as I did. "_Big_." I replied, with emphasis, hoping that this answer would suffice. I didn't want to speculate in terms of inches, like we did on occasion. Not with Gil. It felt… It felt like an invasion of his privacy. What he shared with me was not necessarily what he shared with Anni, and while my other relationships might have expected as much from me, given my age, Gil held me in a higher regard.

He made me want to live up to the person he believed I was, especially where he was concerned.

She laughed, and didn't push, which I appreciated, but did insist upon the details I so did not want to give. And though it probably should not have been so big a choice to make, I agonized for long seconds, while pretending to contemplate the choice between milk and orange juice in the fridge, before deciding to lie. I would lie through my teeth. Partly because I didn't want to share last night with anyone other than Gil, and partly because I still wanted her to think it was about sex.

I felt guilty as I did it, because Anni and I didn't lie to each other, as a rule—it was one of the most refreshing aspects of our relationship, after having both lived lives full of lies—but I did.

"Oh god, you have no idea. I can barely walk this morning. He prefers from behind, and he is just ruthless with that thing. But, believe me, the pain was pleasure, if you know what I mean." I gave her a lascivious grin, hoping that the bleakness in my heart was not visible in my words or on my face. Gil could no more hurt me in bed than kill a man, and the deep eye contact had been one of the most defining features in my memories of the night before.

She giggled, and looked pleased, and took the seat at the table next to me, her bare legs brushing mine for a moment while she settled herself. We ate in relative comfort, while she questioned me on what kind of kisser he was and if he'd gone down on me and every other conceivable question under the sun. I tried to eat without feeling queasy, while I gave her the crudest answers I could think of. Thankfully, she had plans that afternoon with some guy she'd met—when I asked the inevitable, 'What about Todd?' she rolled her eyes and continued, without answering—and so the rest of the time she was home was spent listening to her gush about him. It sounded like he was more her typical fare—tattoos, a motorcycle, a criminal record.

I was relieved when she left so I could take a long bath and get ready for work in peace. When I went to apply my makeup, I was happy to see that I no longer looked pale and peaky without my usual heavy foundation and eyeliner, I actually looked… refreshed. Well-rested. My skin even looked a little peachy, despite my natural olive tones.

I called Gil before I left for work, hinting that he should come in to the bar to see me, and that I'd get him a plate of nachos on the house, but he seemed a little reluctant. He said he'd see, and got off the phone a little abruptly, and I left to work feeling a little less buoyant than I had moments before.

I wondered, uncertainly, if last night had not been everything to him that it had been to me. Maybe he'd wanted more of a vixen in bed. …Hadn't I tried that? I distinctly remembered him telling me to slow down… Maybe I'd slowed down too much? Or maybe I just hadn't been as good a lover as he'd had in the past. Maybe he'd been disappointed at my body, or my technique, or how quickly I came. Maybe he'd wanted… something more than I gave.

I sighed in frustration and slammed doors as I left my house, climbed into my car, and headed to work. For a day that had started out so well, it had turned pretty shitty pretty fucking fast.


End file.
